


Fate Protects

by VendelynSilverhawk



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: 2009, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Into Darkness - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Female James T. Kirk, Genderbending, Jenna Kirk - Freeform, Kirk is a girl, Rule 63, Spock is not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 07:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10271057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VendelynSilverhawk/pseuds/VendelynSilverhawk
Summary: In the splinter-universe created by Nero going through the black hole, one more thing is different; Jenna Kirk is born minutes before her father dies to save her. She grows up rough and screams her way into space, and meets a pointy-eared goblin who changes the course of her life forever.





	1. The Birth of Spock

**Author's Note:**

> Re-posting from ff.net since I finally deleted my account from over there. This is super old, not edited. Just in case the tags weren't clear, this is a Rule 63 genderbend for Kirk, NOT slash. Many scenes use dialogue or deleted scenes directly from the movie scripts.

Fate: protects fools, little children, and ships named Enterprise.

-Commander Riker, Star Trek: The Next Generation, “Contagion”

*

**Vulcan**

The woman's heavy panting broke through the still and silence that normally lay across the dormant planet in its pre-sunset hours, the sweat which covered her brow betraying the physical and mental strain she had been under for the past twelve hours.

Straining against the thin, soaked sheets. She let out a small gasp- straining, straining, _pushing_ with every ounce of strength in her body-

A wail split the air; a newborn's crying!

Outside the desert landscape was awash in the orange light of Vulcan's setting sun, which filtered through the curtained, paneless windows in the dim room and illuminated the baby, now held in a different woman's arms. Warm water was being run down its face and body by a pair of young, steady hands as the child squirmed in the older midwife's arms. Running a towel across him as the older midwife held the wet but clean baby, the younger took in the small body, red face and limber arms and legs.

"He is strong," she said to the older, voice curiously absent of emotion.

"Sarek will be pleased." Nodding her head in concurrence, the older midwife turned, and placed the now calm and swaddled infant into the arms of the exhausted woman on the sweat-soaked divan.

Staring down at her child, Amanda's young face broke into a smile, making the classic beauty of her features all the more radiant. Eagerly she held the baby to her chest, running her fingers along her child's skull dotted with fine black hairs, looking down into his decidedly human eyes. They were round, not narrow or upturned like those of the midwives, and shone brown in the dusky orange light like a pair of unpolished stones. They were capped by two long, arching eyebrows that gave the child a look of perpetual surprise as it stared stoically into its mother's face, small hands grabbing gently at her strands of loose auburn hair.

Tears dripping down her cheeks, she pressed a kiss to the baby's forehead, whispering in gentle awe, "... hello."

In the shadows of the room, the younger midwife cast a glance at the older, her upturned eyebrows arching even more severely.

"The baby is healthy. Why does she cry?"

Casting a somewhat condescending look at the woman on the divan who coddled and cooed at the baby in her arms, the older midwife's voice betrayed nothing but the monotone relaying of a fact.

"She is human." Before the youngest of the pair could ask any more questions about Amanda's odd behavior, the humming sound of a speeder across sand began to grow in the distance. "Sarek arrives."

Amanda looked up from the bed, grip suddenly tighter around her baby, and turned as much as she could to see out the window. Through the gauzy curtain the pulsing black blur that was the flivver approached. She closed her eyes, disquieted.

*

The flivver zoomed across the rocky, barren surface of a seemingly uninhabitable planet, its progress tracked and backlit by the orange fire of the setting sun's light, which also reflected off the tower rock structures and the miles of winding city built into every crevice and plain, upside down, sideways, and typically ignorant of gravity's laws. Yet the flivver's progress was away from the great city, and towards a small home built seamlessly into the rocky mountainside. Rising up, it alight gently on a veranda outside the birthing room.

A being in his late forties, with a stern face tanned and weathered by the harsh Vulcan climate, pulled down his hood and face mask as he disembarked from the vehicle, and turned, emotionless, towards the entryway.

Out in the sunset Sarek took a step towards the door, and hesitated. Through the curtains he caught glimpses of Amanda's long auburn hair as it moved gently back and forth in the evening breeze. He could hear the soft, cooing sounds, and heard the answering laugh of a child. Setting his shoulders, Sarek put all illogical doubts out of his mind, and went to meet his wife and child.

As soon as he entered the room Amanda looked up, but he did not meet her eyes when he knelt next to the bed, face level with the child's. It was a boy, thank Surak- strong and healthy, staring at Sarek with wide human eyes.

"Well done," he said simply. His wife stiffened on the divan, and Sarek blinked once, long and slow, counting the beats of her silence.

Then she spoke, flat, angry, and Sarek knew he had misspoken. "Thanks."

Looking up, Sarek saw the anger plain in her eyes and the set of her jaw, typical precursors of human emotion and, in Amanda, the prelude to a quite rage that Sarek knew could be quite taxing on both parties. She was stubborn in the most human of ways- holding on to her trespasses rather than letting them slide away behind logic's shield, as he had constantly advised her to do, but she remained as spitfire as ever.

Although no one would ever know it, Sarek secretly admired her balance of rage and serenity, as she wore both emotions plainly and in the open, refusing to disguise feelings she believed were justified. She was.... So human, but such a remarkable creature for it.

Nevertheless; "Your tone suggests disappointment. The Science Council required my presence for a session regarding-"

"Don't do that," Amanda snapped in a low tone, pulling the infant away from Sarek's questioning hands minutely. "You knew I wanted you here."

Unbeknownst to his wife, the two Vulcan midwives exchanged a nebulous look, and then the youngest shot a questioning glance at Sarek. He nodded, and both proceeded out the door. Amanda saw their going, but gave no note of the silent exchange. Her brown eyes still burned the top of Sarek's head; he still had not moved from his kneeling position, or taken his eyes off of his son.

When he dared to look up, Amanda's eyes were as flat and remote as any Vulcan's. Sarek's voice matched their clinical detachment.

"As you are aware, the Vulcan male is traditionally not present at the moment of delivery."

"Well _traditionally,_ a human isn't the one giving birth." A beat of silence stretched after her rancorous words, then, "I moved here- to another planet- to be with you. I needed you to be with me today. Holding my hand and telling me I'm doing great, even when I'm just... breathing the best I can."

Growing gentle, her voice flowed over Sarek like honey and thorns- sweet in their offer of forgiveness, but biting because of the sadness evident in her voice. She shouldn't have had to tell him this; he should have known. By now she had moved her gaze back to the baby, taking comfort in their new child and his beautiful innocence.

Sarek swallowed, and considered his wife's words, her mood, the situation. There was only one logical course- only one course that he really wanted to take. He wanted to mend the situation, so as the sun set and the room was bathed in shadows he moved closer to his wife, sliding up onto the divan next to her when she did not object, until their shoulders were touching in a display of affection uncharacteristic for Sarek.

"You are correct," he whispered slowly, intimately. Having the desired effect, the words soothed Amanda, and she leaned into his chest. "I should have been here. I am sorry."

A small smile flitting across her lips, Amanda moved one hand from its position supporting the baby to pull Sarek closer. Lips planting a delicate kiss on his own, Sarek allowed himself a similar smile. The couple sat for a moment in quiet intimacy, savoring the closeness and the warmth.

"I had a thought," Sarek whispered against her lips. "That we might name the child after one of our respected early society-builders. His name was 'Spock.'"

Both parents looked at the child, and it was obvious by Amanda's narrowed eyes that she was not as taken with the name.

"Your silence does not suggest enormous enthusiasm."

"No..." Amanda said quickly, hand lacing with Sarek's on the sheets. "Spock.... _Spock_." Savoring the taste of the name in her mouth, Amanda stroked her son's small curl of black hair and smiled. "Spock."

And they shared another quiet moment, both pleased and content, enjoying the calm between each storm of emotion and logical repression which had thus far defined their marriage.

"The child has your eyes," Sarek said at last.

Ignoring him, Amanda pulled the swaddling cloth away from Spock's head, revealing his ears. She took her thumb and with a smile gently rubbed the tip of his right ear, until a soft, pointed Vulcan ear unfurled to compliment the child's already arched eyebrows.

"... and your ears."


	2. Destruction of the U.S.S. Kelvin

**Three Years Later**

Alarms split the air of the U.S.S. Kelvin, a Federation Starship caught on the edge of the Klingon Neutral Zone, dead among the stars.

Captain Robau strode quickly down the corridor, an officer at his side, both ignoring the flashing alert lights as the Kelvin was assaulted by an anomaly the likes of which no one aboard had ever seen.

"-our sensors haven't made sense of the anomaly?" Captain Robau snapped as they rushed towards the bridge doors.

"-no, sir. It looked like a lightning storm in the middle of space-"

"How far are we from the Neutral Zone?" the captain asked, refusing to allow the tension in his voice show plainly on his face. They could not afford a war with the Klingon, not now when the Federation had only just established a full treaty with them.

"150,000 kilometers, but the vessel is not Klingon, sir. Its registry doesn't match any recorded profile-"

Cut off by the _whoosh_ of the bridge doors, the officer fell away from the Captain's side with a nod of his head. The emergency lights flashing in the console-filled room illuminated Robau's dark skin and bald head, the dark, hawk-like eyes which even now assessed the damage visible from inside the ship itself and did not like what they saw.

He moved immediately to the captain's chair in the center of the room but did not sit- an emergency afforded no such luxuries- and turned to his first officer.

"Report."

Looking back at his captain, the first officer's open face was not one someone would expect to see on a struggling starship in a crises. His short wheat-colored hair and honest features, well-muscle physique, would have made him a hallmark baseball player or athlete back on Earth. Instead of becoming an all-American hero, the twenty-something man had enlisted in Starfleet, and now faced the destruction of the things he loved just as much as his Captain.

Yet the voice which spoke was steady, hardly belying the anxiety and fear hidden in those deep blue eyes.

"Sir, new contact bearing zero-three-four."

"Are they transmitting on any frequency?" A blast from the lightning near the large black vessel they had spotted in the middle of the anomalous lightning storm less than twenty minutes ago rocked the ship, sending crewmembers out of their seats and forcing even more sirens to go off.

"Negative, Captain- all communications appear to be shut down," the first officer verified.

"Hail the ship. What's the closest match on the registry?" Robau moved closer to the large window at the head of the ship, as if wishing he could physically move the large ship's threat as far away as possible.

"Nothing even close, Sir." Looking at him with fearful eyes, the first officer wasn't comforted by his captain's quietly horrified look.

Moving to a different officer, Robau leaned over his shoulder and stared at the hail screen, willing it to respond.

"No response, Sir- hails met with silence." Reading his mind, the officer tried again despite his words.

"Maybe they're incapable. Any identifiable damage?"

"Negative, sir- but our readings seem confused..."

"Confused?" The furrow between Robau's eyes deepened, and his grip on the officer's chair went until his knuckles were white. What was happening? A lightning storm in space, and now this behemoth of a ship that seemingly came from nowhere, with the power to blow them into so much space dust and they had no way to make contact or fight back?

Robau's successful career could not get him out of a situation that had no precedent or even close identifier. Worse, even, it did nothing to help his crew.

"Confused how?"

Flicking a few switches, the officer raised his voice to be heard over the alert sirens. "-not only is the ship unregistered, but even its construction materials seem unrecognizable!"

Robau turned, and without a word went to his seat in the captain's chair, flicking a switch to put space on the view-window. All crewmembers turned, and in a moment of silence broken only by the ship's emergency wails, took in the sight of the goliath, huge and terrifying as it loomed over them.

In space, they were nothing but a dot compared to the massive build of this mystery ship which had appeared in the lightning storm without warning.

Suddenly, the sirens stopped- they were out of the lightning storm, and directly in front of the ship.

"Sir, I have a reading- they've locked weapons on us!" a crewmember shouted, turning to his captain with terror written on his features.

"Red alert- arm weapons!" Robau yelled, leaping up.

Alarms blared, different from the storm alert sirens, and the lights on the ship washed red-

"Torpedo locked on us at 320 degrees, mark two- incoming fast!"

"-evasive pattern Delta-5!"

*

In the bowls of the Kelvin the multi-projectile missile from the mystery ship blasted through the starship's armored plating like a knife through paper, shredding into the engine room with fire and smoke. Red-shirts flew into the vacuum of space, some vaporized by the missile, others dead in the second the plating was exposed.

               Back on the bridge, Captain Robau helped up a fallen crewmember and reached desperately for the comm. on the captain's chair.

               "Damage report!" he yelled above the red sirens and concussive blasts of the enemy ship.

               The voice of Kelvin's chief engineer screamed through the comm.

               "Our shields did nothing, Sir! Never seen anything like it! Weapons off-line- main power at 38 percent!"

               A sigh of despair shook past Robau's thin lips, but he rose, wiping the sweat from his brow, and turned back to the view screen with true defeat in his eyes for the first time, an echo of the realization that death was almost certainly imminent.

               His first officer realized the same thing at the same time, and quickly punched in an inter-ship comm. code. With every ring into his headset he grew more agitated, swallowing convulsively, knuckles white on the chair's armrests.

*

On the exam table in the medical bay, the opposite side of the damaged ship, Winona flipped open her portable comm. Over her heavy breathing punctuated by the occasional gasp of a contraction, she heard the boom of the enemy ship's torpedoes through the comm. speakers.

"What was that?" she cried into the mic. Her husband was on the bridge! "What's happening?"

The first officer let out a shaky sigh of relief- she was still alive.

"You're okay- thank God... where are you?"

"Medical bay!" As the attendants bustled about her, fetching delivery equipment or trying to get her to calm down, each maintaining a brave face despite the ominous moaning of the ship, Winona cradled her stomach and tried to picture her husband's face. In the center of the danger zone.

"I had a few close contractions- I'm fine, but- _what was that_?" A sound like rocks splitting forced its way through the comm. link from her husband's side. In the background someone screamed.

"Just sit tight- stay there. We'll be fine-"

 _They're firing on us, Captain!_ A voice in the background shouted.

Closing her eyes, Winona started to say a prayer just as one of the nurses told her to keep breathing evenly- not long now.

Not long until what?

*

"Life support failing on decks seven through thirteen! We have confirmed casualties, sir!"

“This is the U.S.S. Kelvin, attempting to reach Starfleet command on subspace! Repeat- U.S.S. Kelvin, under attack by unknown aggressor-"

"Shields at eleven percent and dropping! Ten percent- we're at nine! Eight percent! Seven! We're dropping here! Six!"

"- were our shields even up? That was like nothing I've ever see- this ship _cannot_ take another hit like that-"

And then the captain's voice rose above the pandemonium, shouting past the sirens and confusion and the screams echoing through every open comm. link. Red light illuminated his face as he struggled back into the captain's chair-

"All remaining power to the forward shields!" he ordered. "Prepare the shuttles f-"

He stopped. The entire crew did, too- staring in blank shock at the face now hovering on their main view-screen. The dark skin had a green, unhealthy tint to it, and the eyes were so sunken it was difficult to read any emotion in their murky depth, but the features were unmistakably male- unmistakably Romulan.

               "My commander requests the presence of your captain in order to negotiate a cease-fire. You will come aboard our ship via shuttlecraft. Your refusal would be unwise."

Darkness enveloped the screen. Sharing a tense, silent moment, all the eyes of the crew settled on their captain. One long drawn, horrible second later, Robau locked eyes with his first officer.

"Walk with me."

The first officer followed his captain through the door and down the corridor, watching anxiously, eyes tracking the path of destruction through their ship as well as his captain's tense pace.

Robau turned to his first officer. "If I don't report within fifteen minutes, execute general order 13."

"Sir, we could issue a mayday call to-" For the first time, the first officer realized that they were headed for the shuttlepod hanger.

Robau's voice was frightened, but firm when he turned to face his first officer.

"There is no help for us out here. If we're going down, we're taking them with us. You save as many as you can."

His captain was going to his death to buy them time.

Swallowing, the first officer saluted.

"... aye, Captain."

Robau disappeared into the turbolift, but before he activated he locked eyes with his first officer. They were the eyes of a dead man.

"You're Captain now, Mr. Kirk."

*

When Captain George Kirk sat back in the Captain's chair in the failing bridge, everyone knew what it meant.

Speaking his first words as captain; "Lieutenant Pitts, transfer Robau's vital signs to the main view screen."

"Yessir."

In a moment, Robau's vital signs appeared on various monitors- his heart rate, oxygen levels, and blood pressure lit up screens. Behind the sparking of the damaged ship, a low beeping could be heard- Robau's heartbeat.

"Vitals online," a science officer confirmed.

Awkward in his new position, George nodded. "... thank you."

Sparks dripped from the ceiling, everyone was motionless as they monitored their former captain. George wiped the sweat from his forehead as officer Pitts looked up.

"The shuttle's pulling out of main bay."

"I want to see him- floodlights please." At George's command, two massive floodlights on the brow of the Kelvin activated and turned, flaring across the viewscreen. Landing on the shuttle as it left the hangar, the two lights illuminated the miniscule pod's journey to the imposing Romulan ship.

"His heart rate's elevated-"

               "He's scared," someone whispered with a hint of condemnation, although similar fear was on the speaker's face.

               "He's brave!" George snapped. "That's what he is." And quiet descended again, because their former captain was brave, because their new captain was brave- because they all feared their bravery wouldn't be enough.

*

A low-pitched beeping sounded in Robau's shuttlepod as it was consumed by the ship, the Kelvin's floodlights casting eerie, dripping shadows everywhere. The door of the ship's main hangar closed behind him with a massive _thud._ He had arrived.

The insane architecture of the dark, wet, dripping ship was revealed as Robau was led, surrounded by eight heavily armed Romulans, to the bridge, which was even darker. Darkness only broken by the beeping reds and unsettlingly bright green of the control screens, Robau did his level best to portray confidence as he was led up the walkway to the Romulan which had first addressed the Kelvin.

Behind him, silhouetted and motionless as he looked into a distance beyond and away from Robau, was most likely the captain. Lounged sideways in his chair, a spear gripped in one hand, his dark eyes- although focused nowhere- were felt as a heavy shadow on the entire company. This captain was omnipresent, and thus exponentially more dangerous than he appeared.

The Romulan who addressed Robau on the Kelvin reached for a panel, and then threw a holographic image into the air before Robau. Rotating, the image depicted a ship of alien design, with a unique resemblance to a jellyfish.

"Are you familiar with this craft?" the Romulan asked in his slinking voice, eyes glued to Robau's determinedly unruffled face.

"Who is your commander?" Robau demanded. After a beat of silence, he gestured to the man in the chair. "Is that him?"

"You will speak only to me," the other Romulan snarled.

Squaring his shoulders- "Then ask your commander what right he has to attack a Federation vessel."

"That was hardly an attack. My commander will easily destroy your ship," letting the implications of his boast draw out, the Romulan smiled. "... If you do not respond to the question."

Robau looked at the hologram again; thought of his crew.

"I've never seen it. Or any ship like it."

"Are you familiar with- or better, know the location of- Ambassador Spock."

Another hologram had been thrown before Robau, this time of a very old Vulcan in white robes- one that didn't look like any of Vulcan's current ambassadors.

               Confused, Robau replied honestly. "I am unfamiliar with Ambassador Spock."

               An angry nerve twitched in his interrogator's jaw.

               "A final question; what is the current stardate."

               _Stardate?_ Brows furrowing in confusion, Robau began to connect the dots, to make sense of a senseless situation. "...Stardate?... it's 2233.04."

               He locked eyes with the Romulan Captain just as his spear activated with a _tsching_. The four prongs that burst from its tip buried themselves in Robau's chest when the Romulan captain sprang to life and lunged.

*

 _BEEEEEEEEEEEP-_ Robau's vitals went dead one very screen as alarms screamed to life.

               "They're launching again!" Officer Pitts yelled, turning with wide eyes to his captain.

               "Evasive! Evasive!" George ordered from the chair. "Delta-Five maneuver! Fire full-spread!"

               The Kelvin banked as it fired widely, another torpedo blasting from the enemy ship. It separated in space- some of the torpedoes missed. Others hit.

               Debris flew through the ceiling, slamming into the bridge support beam. Green coolant spewed from under the floor grating-

"I'm initiating General Order 13! Set self-destruct for maximum matter-antimatter yield! Three-minute countdown!" George took in the sight of the secondary officers evacuating the bridge- only a few remained, those essential until the very end.

"I want auto-pilot targeted for their fuel cells!" George ordered. The only way they were going to get out alive was to deal a blow so severe the ship couldn't follow the escape pods- a blow inflicted by the full brunt of a Federation starship.

"Sir, unable to locate the ship's power source!" the tactical officer said from his seat, panicking as he searched the strange ship's anatomy desperately.

               "Then just target the thing dead center!"

               "We've got bigger problems; the first hit destroyed auto-pilot," the helmsman relayed gravely, not realizing the implications of his words. "The only way we're gonna ram that ship is to fly manual control!"

               George's jaw clenched, but it was honor more than terror than made his voice strong. "Then I'll do it myself- get to the shuttles, now!"

               No one moved.

               " _That's an order! GO!"_

               There was agony on their faces as they reluctantly hurried off, red light flashing to reveal in strobe-like bursts the red and yellow of their uniforms disappearing through the bridge doors.

               Taking the captain's chair, George hit the comm. link.

               "All decks, this is the Captain speaking- evacuate the ship immediately, get to your designated shuttle crafts-"

*

The florescent lights of the medical bay were overshadowed by the red alert sirens and over the wail and groan of the dying ship a woman's heavy breathing was heard and monitored by the white-clothed doctors around her. Being moved into a wheelchair Winona, now in labor, let her wide eyes stare up at the comm. on the ceiling. Her husband's voice, commanding the ship to evacuate, poured out over them.

               "That's George's voice- what's happening?"

               "We're packing it up," a nurse said, helping Winona to settle into the wheelchair. The pregnant woman's arms tightened around her rounded stomach as pain flashed across her face. "You'll deliver in the shuttle!

               And they were on the move, her communicator beeping as they cleared the Medical Bay.

               "George!" she answered frantically. Relieved, she allowed herself to lean back slightly, one hand still curled around her stomach as contractions rocked her. There was no way for her to know that George was alone on the bridge, piloting the massive ship from the captain's chair and staring at various warnings.

               "I have medical shuttle 37 standing by, get to it now- can you do that?" George asked from the communicator.

               "Yes- where are you?"

               "I'm on my way."

*

"Good- and George, it's coming. Our baby, it's coming now." His wife's voice, gasping, rocked with pain but relieved, sounded from the comm. on his chair. George's eyes lingered on the bridge screens, fingers flying to out-maneuver torpedoes and guide the ship to its doom. Still, jaw clenched, he forced himself to respond with optimism.

Heart shattering, he said "I'll see you in a minute, sweetheart."

*

The large ship banked to avoid the Narada, photons slamming into the Romulan's torpedoes again and just avoiding impact. Crewmembers scrambled to their shuttles as the ship trembled, and in the middle of the madness the captain's wife, delivering in a warzone.

Her back arched with pain.

"Agh! That was- that was a big one!"

"Just keep breathing, you're going to be just fine-" the nurse soothed as they entered the shuttle.

"The baby too, right?" Eyes glazed with delirious pain but also hope caught the nurse's. The woman hesitated just a fraction of a second before helping the doctor get Winona onto the shuttle bed.

               "The baby too."

*

George Kirk checked the monitors- one that read COUNTDOWN TO SELF-DESTRUCT: 180 seconds, 179, 178, and another reading IMPACT PROXIMITY: 36, 054 meters, 36,042, 36,018...

Another glance at the shuttle pod status showed that more shuttles were departing by the second, but Shuttle 37 remained docked. Seeing that one number left on the screen sent a spear of pain right to George's heart. Winona had to go, she had to keep their baby safe, no matter what.... No matter what happened to him.

The fingers of a dead man opened up the comm. link to Shuttle 34.

               "Captain to shuttle 37, is my wife on board?" George visualized the pilot starting up the engines, his wife giving birth in the room right behind the cockpit, their baby...

"Yessir, she is," the pilot responded.

               "I need you to go now, d'you hear me?

               "We're waiting for you, sir-"

               "No- go, take off, _immediately."_

"... yessir."

               But he didn't close the link. He could hear the jostling of the shuttle as it moved, prepared to leave the ship, and then, cutting through the background noise, her voice-

               "Wait!" It sounded on the verge of tears, but George didn't close the link. "We can't go, my husband isn't here yet! Please! _Stop-!"_

               And then her scream of pain, and a nurse saying "You'll need to push now- are you ready?"

               Not a minute later his personal comm. sounded. Answering it, George cut off the other feed and listened.

               "The shuttle's leaving- where are you?"

               He steered the massive ship into range with the Romulan vessel.

"My love? Listen carefully, okay?" His voice began to shake.

"We-we're about to have this baby-"

"Sweetheart... I'm not going to be able to be there." In the alert lights tears shone in his eyes.

"- no- no- no- wait-"

               "I want you to hear me. Please."

               "A-are you still on the ship?"

               "-There's no other way. You know all I want-"

               "- no, you need to be here-"

               "- all I want in the world is to be with you...

               "George, I can't do this without you!" She was crying now. "Please... don't d-"

               And the shuttle launched from the bay, joining the dozens of other shuttles already zooming away in the vastness of space, leaving the doomed ship behind. Aboard, Winona pushed, giving birth to an almost half-orphaned child, mind split between the labor and her child and her husband aboard the ship.

*

A child's cry split through the sirens and torpedo explosions. Tears came to George's eyes as he hit the comm. link again.

"Hey! Hey, so what is it?" His voice was trembling, but his mouth formed an almost-smile.

               "-it's a girl."

               "It's a girl? Yeah?" It was as if he was trying to fill every empty space so he didn't have to watch the countdown, hear the sirens, see his proximity to the Romulan ship. "Tell me... tell me about her-"

               "She's- she's beautiful... she looks like you."

               Heartsick, George laughed and couldn't help glancing at the monitors, out of a sick sense of mortality. How long did he have to be a father again, to talk to his family?

 20 seconds to self-destruct.

Winona's heartbroken voice crackled through the comm. "George, you should be here-"

"I know... so what should we call her, huh?"

"We could name her after your father? But, more feminine-"

"Tiberia? Are you kidding me? No, that's the worst... We'll name him after your dad."

"Jim... what about Jenna?"

"Yeah, let's call her Jenna."

And Jenna was crying in Winona's arms, George imagined his daughter's strong face and tried, in ten seconds, to imagine the woman she would become.

Through the viewscreen the Romulan ship loomed- he was about to hit, the Kelvin angling within the enormous blades of the ship's outer casing-

George was scared, and it finally showed on his face.

"Sweetheart? Sweetheart? I love you... Can you hear me-?"

"- yes- yes, I hear you..."

"- I love you _. I love y_ -"

The Kelvin slammed into the Romulan ship, and fire exploded among the stars.

*

In the medical shuttle George's voice went static. For a moment Winona sat, confused, but then devastation filled her eyes and she understood what had happened. Looking out the window with wet eyes nearly blinded by the bright shuttle glow, she saw the massive explosion quickly sucked away into the vacuum of space.

Crying, she held her new baby, who had just lost her father, her life altered forever, and had a sudden fear for what the future would bring.

*

**Minutes later**

Shuttle 34 sailed away with the other survivors, fleeing the Romulan ship now raining debris from the Kelvin's impact, which knocked it adrift in space.

Inside the ship, named the Narada, crews worked frantically amidst mayhem and alarms to stabilize the ship. The captain, face still specked with Captain Robau's blood, stared at the hologram of Ambassador Spock, ignoring the calamity around him. Obsession shone in his dark eyes, a terrifying thing in the alarms' flashing lights.

The Romulan who interrogated Robau, Lieutenant Ayel, worked a bridge monitor close by, yelling in Romulan to scrambling crewmembers. Consequently, out in space large blade-like sails emerged from the ship and slowly began to steady the behemoth's mass. But then another ship appeared, decloaking from nothingness.

Blotting out the stars, a Klingon vessel was joined by another, then another, until Ayel stared at the monitor rapidly filling with Klingon ships that surrounded the Narada.

               Harsh Klingon dialect booms throughout the Narada's speakers.

               _"Trespassing vessel; you have entered the jurisdiction of the Klingon Empire. Power down and prepare to be boarded, or you will be destroyed."_

               Eye wide, Ayel turned to his captain, who was still staring at Spock's image like a man possessed.

               "Commander Nero," he rasped, "- we're surrounded. 

               Finally, Nero looked up. "Sir, what are your orders?”


	3. Childhood

**Eight Years Later**

The Vulcan Learning Center towered over the other buildings in the capitol city of the red, desert-planet Vulcan, inverted so that it literally hung above them like the dark scowl that often graced its proctors' faces. Black-robed and stiff-backed they prowled the ramparts between the concave half-circles in the floor of the learning center, keen eyes observing the child in the center of each learning pod with interest.

One particular boy stood out from the others, even in the darkness, with holographic images projected from the sides of his own pod as the computer read off questions. Eleven years old, Spock answered every question as it was read out with aid of holograms, never once hesitating in his answers.

"What is the square root of 2,396,304?" the computer asked.

               "One-thousand-five-hundred-forty-eight-"

               "Correct. What is the central assumption of Quantum Cosmology-"

               "-everything that can happen does happen, in equal and parallel universes-"

               "Correct. Identify the 20th century Earth composers of the following musical progression-"

               The music had barely begun to play before Spock answered the question.

               "Paul McCartney and John Lennon."

               And more questions were asked of him, his voice blending with that of a hundred other children in learning pods of their own, the white bowls filled with light and holograms. Proctors walked between each, surveying the mental martial arts with stoic faces betraying absolutely nothing, even when one girl got an answer wrong, and the light in her pod went out. One after another, each light went out as child after child got an answer wrong and their test was shut down. Finally, Spock's pod was the only one left.

               "Your score is one-hundred percent. Congratulations, Spock," his computer said, and then his own light, too, went out.

*

His computer was the only one offering congratulations; the three bullies towering over him, stoic expressions still not masking their disdain, were standing above his learning pod for a completely different reason.

               Spock, expression guarded as he gathered his things and joined them on the ramp, managed to face them and still completely disregard their presence. "I presume you've prepared new insults for today."

               "Affirmative," the leader stated. Jumping in, the female at his side stepped up to Spock.

               "You are neither human nor Vulcan, and therefore have no place in this universe," she sneered. These three children were miraculous examples of the capability for hurt Vulcans possess, while still upholding their doctrine of restrained emotions.

               Spock swallowed the insult. "This is your thirty-fifth attempt to elicit an emotional response from me. Logic dictates you would cease by now."

               This stung the girl, the use of logic as a shield by someone not even fully Vulcan.

               "Look," their leader said. "He has human eyes. They look sad, don't they?"

               "Perhaps an emotional response requires physical stimuli," the girl suggested, glancing askance at their third, silent companion. Obligingly, he stepped forward and shoved Spock to the point where he almost fell back into his learning pod.

               Spock's eyes darkened, their warm brown a testament to his human genes, and fought the urge to fight back.

               "He's a traitor, you know. Your father. For marrying her," even when said in monotone, the girl's words were like a slap in the face.

 Just for emphasis, the leader added, "That human whore."

Spock's expression went completely blank as he struggled to commit, to honor his father and the Vulcan way- and failed. Battle cry torn from his lips, Spock charged the bully and tackled him so that both tumbled down into the adjacent learning pod. After a brief struggle of stiff limbs and clenched teeth, Spock's fingers clamped down on his opponent's shoulders and forced him to the floor, where Spock's fists repeatedly connected with his face. The other bullies looked on from above, shocked and unsure how to deal with this heinous break of protocol.

Then, a voice like a whip cracked across all four children, though the two in the learning pod took no notice.

"T'Pring, Sulvet, what is going on?"

*

The green blood from his split lip stood out starkly against Spock's pale complexion, bathed in the orange from the setting sun though it was. Behind him the linear buildings of the city as seen through the window behind his bench seemed to chastise him this battle wound, but his attention was riveted- if surreptitiously so- on his parents, arguing in the hallway astride his own.

               Voice soft but stern, Amanda faced her husband in disbelief.

               "- where I'm from, when someone hits you, you hit back. How is that not logical?"

               "Spock had no reasonable expectation of being physically injured-"

               "They pick on him- they tease him- every day!" She couldn't believe what Sarek was saying; how dare he insinuate that their son was completely to blame, that it was wrong for them to stand up for their _child._

"Which is precisely why reason must guide his actions above all," Sarek said sternly, not glancing down the hall at his son. He knew Spock was listening, and had strangely mixed feelings about Spock hearing his disapproval. Amanda couldn't see any of this internal dissent, though.

"I want him to embrace Vulcan, you know that..." Amanda sighed. "But he has to be himself- which means, occasionally, being human."

               "His 'humanity' is the very source of his ostracism," Sarek pointed out.

               "When Vulcans get disgusted with each other, they never just walk away, do they?"

               "No."

               "Well, humans do," Amanda hit her words home by turning and walking away, sparing a single glance for her Spock behind Sarek before disappearing into the entrance hall of the Learning Academy. She passed the proctor who broke up the fight, standing behind T'Pring, Skel, and Sulvet, but pointedly ignored them on her way out.

               Knowing he would have to appease his wife later, and with good cause, Sarek turned to the matter at hand. When he reached Spock he could see the fear in the boy's eyes, but he could not tell of what.

               "I did not mean to create conflict between you and mother," Spock whispered, eyes drifting to the floor.

               After that Sarek was unable to say what he was going to- about the betterment of Spock's control. Softening, he dared to sit next to his son, attempting to imitate Amanda's own warmth whenever she was with Spock.

               "In marriage, conflict is..."

               "Constant?" Spock finished, startling Sarek. Do he and Amanda really hold arguments where he could hear them so often? Unquiet, he corrected Spock without thinking.

               "Natural." Noticing Spock's furrowed brow. "Emotions run deep within our race. In many ways, more deeply than in humans. Long ago, they nearly destroyed us... that is why we followed the teachings of Surak. Now you must choose."

               "Between you and mother?"

               "Never, my son. But you may choose the ethic of logic. Logic offers a serenity humans seldom experience. The control of feelings... so that they do not control you."

               Spock knew this observation was pointed; a warning, a lesson, a hope for better conduct in the future. But it didn't stop him from continued feelings of shame for his behavior, despite his father's insistence that he may choose a different path.

               "They called you a traitor," he said suddenly, flashing back to the bullies' faces leering down at him, realizing a flaw in his father's reasoning. "You suggest that I should be completely Vulcan... and yet you married a human. Why?"

               This threw Sarek for a loop, but he steady fought down his conflicted feelings and, when he spoke, his voice was measured and steady.

               "As Ambassador to Earth, my duty it to observe and understand human behavior. Marrying your mother was.... Logical." And yet, strangely, this did not seem to reassure Spock. "Spock. You are fully capable of choosing your own destiny. The question you are faced with... is which path you will take. This is something only you can decide."

*

**Three Years Later- Earth**

_Bam._ The farmhouse door, settled in the middle of the Iowa plains- aka nowhere- blew open in the wake of fourteen year-old George Kirk, Jr.'s anger. Throwing the duffel over his back, he refused to acknowledge the hulking, angry redneck following him or the eleven year-old sister nervously debating whether or not to follow him.

"Go ahead: go- run away!" his Uncle Frank shouted, face red as a beet beneath the noonday sun. "You know I could give a damn!"

               "Wait- no!" little Jenna begged, too afraid to move past the shadow of the house and at the same time terrified to see her brother so serious about leaving. "Where are you going?"

               Her brother's face didn't soften when he looked back; he was all eyes for his uncle. "Anywhere but here! Far as I can get-"

               "Which won't be far enough- know what your problem is?" Taking a moment to spit on the ground at George's feet, Frank laughed unpleasantly. "No one ever taught you respect! How to follow orders- do as you're told!"

               Then he noticed Jenna edging out of the doorway and towards George, eyes darting desperately between the two titanic forces. "What the hell are you doin'?"

               "I-I..." Jenna could barely speak past the lump in her throat. "I didn't want George to leave..."

"Well I do!" Frank roared, causing Jenna to cave in on herself with barely a squeak. "And I asked you to wash the car! How many damn times do I need to repeat myself?! How many damn times? How many?"

               Satisfied that he had scared the living daylights out of Jenna, and that George would hit the road, Frank gave each child one last ugly look before storming back into the house and slamming the door behind him. Before he was even inside George had turned and begun to walk away again.

               "Please stay!" Jenna cried, racing after him while hastily pulling a floating cylindrical object out of her coat. "You can have my Flo-Yo!" It was the desperate plea of a child unable to accept the loss of the only family that had been reliable for all her eleven years, unable to understand _why_. But her brother merely batted the toy away.

               "This isn't about toys; it's Uncle Frank. I can't take him anymore – Mom has no idea what he's like when she's not here. D'you hear him talking like he's our dad?! And that's not even his car you're washing! That was Dad's car! You know why you're washing it? Because he's gonna sell it!"

               Jenna could care less about her father's care, but her brother leaving; she couldn't stand. She squeezed his arm.

               "Don't leave- okay? We can tell Mom when she gets back from-"

               "She's gone for five more months! By then, I'll be in a different system." At last, though, George saw the devastation in his sister's eyes. Kneeling down, he took her hands. "You're gonna be okay. You always are. Always doing everything right- good grades and obeying every stupid order... I can't be a Kirk in this house. Show me how to do that, and I'll stay."

               She could offer nothing but the tears slowly rolling down her face. George gave her a quick hug and then walked off, Jenna's eyes following him until he disappeared down the road.

*

Jenna's sponge _squeeeked_ across the soapy passenger windows of her father's vintage red corvette, its white top down in the sun. There were still tear tracks on her face, but judging by the soap bucket by her side and suds covering almost the entire car it had been some time since George's great escape. Her glazed eyes took no notice of the car or sun in her eyes; she was still too dazed, mind spinning at the sudden loss of her center of gravity, her big brother.

               The loud screech of the sponge on the window brought her back to reality, though, and in that minute her eyes focused they zeroed in on the car keys, still in the ignition. The devilish glint in her eyes had nothing to do with the sun reflecting off the side mirrors.

               Less than ten minutes later she was behind the wheel of the corvette, fishtailing onto the road to the metallic whir of the car's magnetic engine. Tall and wiry for her age, Jenna was just long enough to see over the wheel and use the pedals, face more determined than nervous, though butterflies gnawed at the edges of her stomach. Taking a deep breath, eyes still on the road, she reached down to turn on the modified radio, touchscreen flashing. When she glanced down for a split second to choose a station the car swerved wildly, dust flying up around its polished surface.

Hard rock blasted as she wrenched the steering wheel back in place, a wild grin on her face. She'd never felt so powerful before, so fast, and as her foot bore down even more on the gas pedal she strained up to remove the latches on the roof. At the speed she was going, as soon as one was free the entire roof ripped off the car. Jenna glanced back, wide-eyed, as it tumbled through the air to land in her dusty wake.

               "Pull over at once, citizen!" a loud, automated voice yelled over the growling of her engine and the blasting music. Head swiveling to the side, Jenna saw the metallic visor of a cop on his hoverspeeder, red and blue sirens blaring and flashing as he pointed to the side of the road.

               Clenching her jaw determinedly, Jenna merely cranked up the radio and yanked the steering wheel straight toward the cop, his hoverspeeder rising just in time to miss the car. Her heart pounded in her throat, sweat beading on her forehead, but the eleven-year-old had never felt so alive. She was starting to understand the adrenaline junkies that sometimes bungee-jumped off the clips, or held speeder races in the plains at night, lights flashing, engines growling so loud that she stayed up all night to watch from her window.

               Eventually the dirt road met a fence stretching in every direction, but the corvette busted through the gates to the sound of Jenna's whoop of joy. She didn't notice the sign blowing away her in wake: DANGER- QUARRY AHEAD. IOWA MINING CO.

               Or maybe she did, because she doesn't look surprised at the five-hundred foot drop into the quarry rapidly approaching her. In fact, her wide eyes aren't filled with fear, but an intense, almost suicidal longing, too out of place in a child's eyes.

               The cop persisted behind her, yelling and ordering her to stop, but she only pressed the gas pedal further, getting closer, closer- almost there-

               With a scream her foot slammed the break, hands chafing against the wheel as she pulled it to the side, causing the car to skid, then pivot to the side, but momentum carried it to the Cliffside still. She launched herself from the car mere seconds before it sailed sideways off the cliff edge, falling, falling, leaving Jenna clinging in a cloud of dust to the edge of the cliff, her legs dangling dangerously over the edge.

               Beneath her, the red corvette went up in flames and she grinned; one last tribute for her dear, dear uncle. As she pulled herself up and into the dirt, two feet clad in heavy boots hit the ground in front of her, the shape blocking out the sun. Looking up and squinting the dirt from her eyes, Jenna didn't flinch at the large cyber-cop standing in front of her.

               "What is your name, citizen?" it asked, and if cyber-cops could send pissed, this one certainly managed to go above and beyond.

               Still grinning like a maniac, when Jenna stood it was as if for the first time, shoulders straight and head held high, her uncle's influence over her burned along with the car.

               "My name is Jenna Tiberius Kirk."


	4. Nero Escapes

**Klingon Prison Planet**

Lying on a cold interrogation slab surrounded by guards, ten years of working on a Klingon Prison Asteroid evident in his toned chest and naked arms, Nero's expression was like ice. It had been hours since he was dragged here, after one of his crewmen let slip the federation maps being smuggled into the prison in the presence of guards.

               So far, the interrogation had not been fruitful.

               A burly Klingon in charge of the interrogation stared past the glaring ceiling lights at Nero's face with a cruelly clinical detachment. When he spoke, it was as if the Klingon words were shoved from a throat that had been gargling nails.

               "I have come far to meet you; 'The One Who Does Not Speak.' It has been ten years since we captured you and your ship in our Neutral Zone. Ten years is a long time to maintain silence." Nero remained emotionless and mute. "Perhaps you simply do not speak Klingon, just as I do not speak Romulan."

               When he switched to English Nero's face didn't betray any hint of understanding.

               "But I assume we both speak the language of our common enemy." The interrogator pulled from his thick jacket a worn leather journal, and flipped through its pages casually. His cold eyes skimmed drawings of a ship shaped like a jellyfish- the same from the Narada's holographs- and complicated mathematical equations surrounded by sketches of encroaching darkness.

               "We found this book in your cell. Cartography, mathematics- what do these mean? This date written here- eleven years from now- what happens then?" Anger flashed across the Klingon's face when Nero refused to give any indication of listening, and his grip on the book tightened. From another pocket he pulled a bundle of fluorescent maps covered in starcharts and alien languages, presumably Romulan.

               "And why attempt to smuggle in maps of Federation space?"

               Nero's face betrayed nothing; no fear, no doubt, eyes as cold and unforgiving as the asteroid's bleak surface. One eye twitched minutely, when the Klingon, in the process of putting the journal away, flashed a page covered in drawings of Ambassador Spock.

               "When you were captured," the interrogator began to circle the table, crushing the precious maps in his meaty hands, "We assumed you were a spy, sent from Romulus to survey the Empire. But because the Romulans deny your existence, I believe you are much more than that." His tone became grim, and at last he stopped by Nero's head and nodded to one of the guards. The guard approached with a strange glass container, something wet flip-flopping ominously from within.

               A nasty smile covered the interrogator's face.

               "Your ship remains in orbit above us now. We've been asking for its secrets for too long. That is why I am here; we want to know how it works, and I believe now, finally... you will tell us."

               Using tongs, the guard removed from the glass case a disgusting creature covered in slime, with sucks and spikes adorning a slug-like body covered in grimy mucks. It flipped around in midair, contained only by the thin metal tongs digging into its flesh. Waved ominously above Nero, the interrogator continued to speak.

               "Centaurian slugs. Their native planet is in constant sunlight; as a result, there's nothing they hate more... than darkness."

               At an imperceptible signal, the guard grabbed Nero's head and forced it back, while a second pried his mouth open. The third shoved the slug into Nero's mouth.

               Eyes open, Nero remained furiously determined not to be broken as he was forced to swallow the creature, body convulsing as the wretched thing made its way down his esophagus and into his stomach. Mouth clenched, he refused even to scream as the veins of his neck bulged.

               "They try to claw and bite their way out of any dark space they're in, as you'll soon find. Perhaps then you will be willing to speak."

               Eyes focusing on a spot above and just beyond the interrogator's leering face, Nero stared blankly in order to contain his horrifying internal pain, the effort of not screaming a strain on his once stoic face. His eyes grew wide and crazed after a moment, but they were no longer focused on the red within him where the slug butchered his insides in an attempt to regain the light. Instead, they saw beyond the walls of the prison, beyond the stars themselves, to focus on the only thing that, after ten years, had kept him from losing his mind altogether.

               Dreamlike, ethereal, images of a woman flashed before his eyes in his mind like a film. Slim and beautiful, Romulan, her smiling face looking down on him with the benevolence of an angel. She turned, and Nero's last image of her before the pain took him was of her rounded stomach, encased by two small hands, warmth radiating from the tiny life inside.


	5. Spock Joins Starfleet

**Vulcan Science Academy, Council Ante-Chamber**

Years later, Amanda still thought that her son was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, despite being told multiple times by her husband and others that aesthetic beauty for the sake of admiration was illogical and not conducive to anything truly constructive.

               Now, as morning light bathed the quiet waiting room in light, Amanda looked at her son's silhouette through the thinly carved wood of the meditation chamber in the corner of the room. In stressful situations Vulcans realized the need for small pockets of peace and quiet, and here Amanda didn't begrudge her son that, but it was obvious that he hadn't been meditating, and he would be called in any minute now. She had to see her beautiful, perfect child once before he made his final choice.

               “Spock, come here," she called softly, watching his shadow shift uncomfortably. "Let me see you."

               A beat of silence passed before his muffled voice reached her, tense and tight.

               "No."

               "Spock," Amanda sighed, voice radiating love and acceptance rather than disapproval. Reluctantly, Spock uncurled himself from the meditation position and approached her. Shoulders tight, obviously anxious but doing his best to look impassive; Amanda knew her son better than any Vulcan training could erase.

               She began to adjust his collar, fussing softly as mothers often do. "There's no need to be anxious; you'll do fine."

               "I am hardly 'anxious,' mother," he brushed her off easily, but then- anxiously- said, "And 'fine' has variable definitions. 'Fine' is unacceptable."

               She just smiled and continued to adjust his collar. His brow furrowed in annoyance, hands trying to move her away by clasping her wrists gently, but he paused there. His annoyance, her subtle gestures of love for him; it was a game, a sweet exhibition, especially when he moved his fingers up to lace with hers.

               A meaningful silence passed between them before he dared to ask his question.

               "May I ask a personal query?"

               "Anything," Amanda answered without hesitation, eyes searching her son's face with only the slightest hint of concern.

"Should I choose to complete the Vulcan discipline of Kolinahr... and purge all emotion... I trust you will not feel it reflects judgment upon you," he said, meeting her eyes.

Moved beyond words, it was all she could do not to keep tears from her eyes. He was still such a little boy, afraid of dishonoring or embarrassing his parents, unsure of his place between their two radically different worlds. When she reached up to touch his face he sighed audibly.

"As always... whoever you choose to be, you will have a proud mother." Visibly relaxing at her words and smile, Spock still didn't let go of her other hand.

Mother and son, worlds apart but forever bonded, stood haloed by sunlight, before a voice split their calm from the Council Chamber; calling him to receive judgment.

*

In the imposing yet beautiful indoor atrium, Spock stood before the Vulcan High Council, scanning all of them with calculating eyes. He doesn't react to his father's presence, seated beside the Science Minister and other Vulcan leaders.

From his raised seat in the middle of the Council, the Science Minister looked at Spock with the closest thing a Vulcan could come to a smile; a mild expression of approval.

               "You have surpassed the expectations of your instructors. Your final record is flawless- with one exception. I see you have applied to Starfleet as well."

               Spock struggled with this- this minor, jabbing show of disapproval. Taking a small breath to steady himself, he summoned a Vulcan's inner calm and looked impassively at the Science Minister.

               "It was logical to cultivate multiple options," he explained simply, and the Minister nodded.

"Logical but unnecessary. You are hereby accepted to the Vulcan Science Academy." Approval was back on his face, and Spock's eyes widened minutely in delighted shock. "It is truly remarkable, Spock, that you have achieved so much despite your disadvantage. Welcome to the Academy."

All of the leaders rose, but Spock no longer looked pleased. In fact, he shifted from one foot to the other in a too-human gesture, suddenly unsettled.

               "If you would clarify, Minister- to what 'disadvantage' are you referring?"

               "Why," the Minister said, one eyebrow raised, as if he expected Spock to be aware already. "Your human mother."

               The Council began to disperse, none of them noticing the stricken look on Spock's face- the same one he wore when he took abuse from his peers as a child, a mixture of Vulcan passivity and pure, human rage. Spock's gaze flitted to his father, seeking explanation, apology, _something_ to calm the storm roiling inside him and put to rights the grievous insult just uttered by the Minister.

               But Sarek, ever the consummate diplomat, said nothing. His eyes, though, commanded clearly: remain calm. Breathing heavily through his nostrils, Spock struggled, again a parallel to his internal storm as a child.

               And then, before he could stop himself, he made the first truly spontaneous- and human- decision of his life.

"Council- Ministers," he said, loud enough that they all heard and turned in surprise. "I must decline."

               At once confusion turned cold, the Science Minister practically shooting daggers at Spock with his dark eyes as he loomed over his podium.

               "No Vulcan has ever declined admission to this academy," he said stiffly, clearly having an internal struggle of his own.

               "Then as I am half-human your record remains untarnished." Spock countered, a fierce, _human_ desire to win burning away at his composure.

      "Spock," Sarek's voice commanded even when kept level. "You have made a commitment to honor the _Vulcan_ way-"

"At the moment, father, I can think of no greater way to honor our race than to attend Starfleet as its first Vulcan." It was no secret that Vulcans viewed Starfleet and the budding Federation of Planets with mild disdain, that working with humans and expanding into the stars was considered less than desirable when becoming a scholar, scientist, architect, or other intellectual profession on their home planet was an option.

               "Why did you come before this council today?" the Science Minister demanded. "What it to satisfy your emotional need to rebel?"

               There it was; turning the situation against Spock, painting him an emotionally unstable half-breed. This time, Spock would have none of it. He had made his choice; now all that was left was to carry it out with dignity.

               "The only emotion I wish to convey is gratitude. Thank you, Ministers, for your consideration." Although he didn't know it, Spock's expression and tone of voice, on Earth- and in his mother's eyes- would have been described as a contained "Fuck you." All that was left was the metaphorical middle fingers, encapsulated by:

               "Live long and prosper." Spock looked to his father, whose disappointment was evident, but he still drew himself up proudly and turned his back to them, exiting the chamber, heading toward a suddenly, terrifyingly uncertain future.


	6. Kirk Joins Starfleet

**Some Years Later, Iowa**

_The Warp Trail_ isn't the most popular bar in this desolate little Iowa town by far, but it's the only one close to the college that I can afford. Through the vinyl double doors I parade, my own one-girl party in the brand-new purple mini-dress sporting slashed draped sleeves and a low back that compliments my figure. The strappy heels my roommates shoved me into are already killing my feet, but that might be because I chose to wear them while riding my motorcycle.

               Either way, it's the night before a final and I plan to get wasted. Last-minute triumph has always been my thing. Maybe a little last-minute panic would be in order, if the class wasn't a total breeze.

               In the entryway mirrors flash on either wall, giving me a glimpse of the way the low-cut dress emphasizes the concave curve of my back and my sharp shoulder blades. When I shake my head, my chin-length dirty blonde hair waves jaggedly around a strong jaw and narrow cheekbones, emphasizing my face-framing makeup. Dusky around my eyes, it makes them look fierce. I look _hot._

Grinning, I shove open the inner doors.

The mad red and purple lights on the ceiling swivel around to catch the light on every glittery piece of jewelry and shiny pair of shoes. Terrans and off-worlders alike mash together, half on a pulsing dance floor, half scattered around the tables and bar. I make my way directly to the bar, looking forward to the buzz of alcohol and hopefully a hot male of some species on each arm. The overwhelming amount of red uniforms tonight makes me hopeful that they'll be Starfleet cadets.

               "Hello. I'd like a klabnian fire tea, two cardassian sunrises, and three earth beers, no slim shots, and anything on draft," a high, clear voice reads off the menu being held in long-fingered, well-manicured hands just two bar-seats down from me. The strength in the youthful voice belies the possibility of a handsome face.

               Not handsome- _pretty_ , I find when I crane my neck to see past the mound of a dondaran in the seat next to me. His Starfleet cadet uniform only makes him more attractive.

He's cute, in a nerdy sort of way, with a pair of antique wire-rimmed glasses that enlarge his soft dark eyes, flame-red hair that clashes with the deep red of his uniform, and brilliant emerald skin.  

               "That's a lot of drinks for one guy. You planning to share?" I lean back across the bar so that he can see me better past the giant alien lump sitting between us. Ignoring the dondarian's grunt of annoyance, I flash the cadet my winning smile.

"Uh-um, I don't really think... I mean, I-" His stammering is adorable, augmented by the fact that he is obviously intelligent, too- just shy. Letting out a small laugh to make him more comfortable, I saunter over and lean in close. He looks alarmed. What, does he think I'll bite him?

"So, you're a cadet. Studying. What's your focus?" I ask.

"Xenobiology and Gaialogy, but you probably don't-" I am sure he doesn't mean to be rude by assuming that I don't know what they mean, but a twinge of annoyance still makes its way through me. _Do I really look that stupid, or is it just because I happen to be a country girl at a bar?_

"It means you study alien ecosystems and biospheres, and from the gaialogy I'm guessing... terraforming technology?"

Smiling, the cadet reaches out to awkwardly shake my hand. "My name is Dylan, Dylan Ma-"

               But before he can finish he is interrupted by a blond cadet and her dark-skinned friend, both looking annoyed with my presence.

               "Is this hooker bothering you, Dylan?" the blond asks, snaking her arm around his shoulder despite the fact that the burley cadet standing a few tables away is obviously her boyfriend. The dark-skinned cadet says nothing, merely arching an eyebrow sardonically at the blonde's behavior. I get the feeling they aren't really friends, but right now they both share the same hostility towards me.

               "H-hooker? What, no, we were just- I mean, she's not-" Poor stammering Dylan, he actually can't tell if I am a prostitute or not. Clearly he is the baby of their group, but no way am I going to let some Starfleet whore call _me_ a hooker.

               "I'm not a prostitute, thanks. And I'd appreciate it if you'd leave me and Dylan alone. We were having very nice conversation before you let your sleezy self in." Giving the cadet my best smile, I don't flinch when she splashes me with the remains of her martini.

"Sydney!" Dylan gasps, and immediately starts spewing apologies, but I am no longer interested in him. I bought this dress yesterday, and now it is covered in this dumb blonde's slusho.

Her dark-skinned friend flashes us both equal looks of disgust, her overly dignified face giving her something of a constantly judging air.

"Sydney, that's enough!" she reprimands, but her "friend" ignores her decidedly wiser advice.

"Scram, hick," Sydney sneers. She must be smart enough to get into Starfleet on merit, because her social skills are severely lacking.

"Wow... I really didn't want to do this," I mutter, taking off my jacket and kicking away the restrictive heels my peers at the college insisted I wear for the bar's "ladies' night." Before the blond, Sydney, can even open her mouth for another insult I land a solid punch on her jaw.

"Hey, that's my girlfriend!" the guy at the corner table yells, barreling forward.

"Really, I couldn't tell. Maybe you should keep her on a tighter leash," I say almost conversationally, but for the edge in my voice. I pat Dylan's hand apologetically. "Sorry Dylan- it was nice meeting you."

Then Sydney lunges, bruise already forming on her jaw, and all hell breaks loose.

*

By the time the shrill whistle pierces the muggy atmosphere of the bar Sydney is down for the count, missing a few locks of hair and smarting from stiletto-shaped bruises on her lower back, and her dark-skinned friend is screaming at us to stop fighting. I am still entangled with the brutish blonde's boyfriend, attempting to use his weight against him to keep him from successfully strangling me. Both of us have landed decent blows, despite the bartender finally butting in and screaming at him to stop beating up a woman, but neither of us paid him any heed. This "woman" has completely trashed the place in her fight with the remarkably rhinoceros-like cadet.

"Cadets!" The voice is sharp, commanding obedience at first breath and every single person in a Starfleet uniform in the bar instantly stands ramrod straight and at attention. From my placement on the bar table, I can only vaguely make out a black uniform marked by a silver Starfleet insignia over the man's heart. Above the neckline is just a blur thanks to my former opponent's chokehold. He, too, is standing at attention and looking completely horrified.

"Outside, all of you! _Now,"_ the voice orders. All comply. When the bar is half-empty- others left as soon as the fight commenced- the Starfleet officer looks down at me. "You alright?"

Blood is dripping from my nose, and there is a stiletto heel tangled in my hair courtesy of Sydney, but I find enough strength to say "You can whistle really loud, you know that?"

"And you don't know how to pick a fight you can win," he says, helping me off the table and over to a booth. The floor spins, and my vision blackens, but I never hit the floor.

*

When I finally become completely coherent, the bar is empty and servers are still picking up the broken glass and righting overturned tables and chairs, and I am sitting in one of the corner booths. The Starfleet officer is right across from me.

He wordlessly pushes a classic Budweiser across the table, and I take a swig to clear my head, which is still pounding. There are tissues in my nose to stop the bleeding.

"I couldn't believe when the bartender told me who you are," the officer says, and I look at him in disbelief. Is he really going to lecture me? He looks like the lecturing type- graying salt-and-pepper hair but still full enough to touch the back of his uniform collar; a military cut with style. His badge reads Captain Christopher Pike.

I take another moody sip of bear before replying, dreading the inevitable conversation. I don't think I can just get up and walk away from this one.

"... and who am I, _Captain Pike_?"

"Your father's daughter," he smiles at this, but I find nothing funny about my doomed dead daddy, his body consumed in space 22 years ago just seconds after I was born. "For my dissertation, I was assigned the U.S.S. Kelvin. Something I admired about your dad... he didn't believe in no-win scenarios."

"He sure learned his lesson." It doesn't take a second to shoot back the reply- I've been counteracting it all my life as the daughter of the great, heroic Captain Kirk. Everyone used to expect things of me- my mother, my older brother, the Starfleet community, but when it became clear that I had no interest in being part of the organization that resulted in my father's death everyone gave up. There were no more visits by Starfleet commanders, mom started going off planet more and George eventually left because he couldn't take the pressure or living with our deadbeat Uncle. I couldn't stand it, either, but juvenile stunts and adrenaline hunts made up for all of the disappointing looks around me.

I am so done with people _expecting_ things of me. But from the determined look on his face, Captain Pike isn't going to give up easily.

"Depends on how you define winning. You're here, aren't you?" I shoot him my best "does it matter that I'm here?" look and do my best to convey just how much I _don't care_.

"That instinct to leap without looking- that was his nature, too. And in my opinion it's something Starfleet has lost. We're admirable, respectable. But overly-disciplined.... those cadets you took on, they'll make competent officers, if they learn not to underestimate someone based on size or gender- but you can bet your ass they'll run home to mommy the minute they're looking down the barrel of a Klingon phaser cannon."

I lean back in my chair, exasperated. I'm bleeding, I have a headache, my new dress is ruined, I don't know where my shoes went, and I have an early final tomorrow.

"Why are you talking to me?"

"I looked up your file while you were drooling on the floor. Your aptitude tests were off the charts- what is it? Do you _like_ being the only Genius Level repeat-offender in the Midwest?"

Smirking. "Maybe I love it."

Pike has obviously had enough, but his determination doesn't matter to me- the sudden, fevered sincerity in his eyes does. He looks like he actually believes I'm worth something.

"So your dad dies... you can settle for a less-than-ordinary life. Or do you feel like you're meant for something better? Something special?"

Hanging in the air, his words tempt me, taunt me, tantalizingly close because I can see what he's talking about. I've been seeing it for years but I ignore it because it is so much easier to just not care, to go on being the biggest fish in the smallest pond on earth.

Clenching the inside of my cheek, I swirl the beer around in the glass and try not to look convinced.

"Enlist in Starfleet," Pike urges, and I smother a laugh.

" _Enlist._ You must be way down on your recruiting quota for the month-"

"If you are half the-" The beer spills on the floor when I shove the table away from me and stand, broken glass clattering to echo the bartender's cry of dismay.

"Half the what?" I snarl suddenly, sure that my fight ended too soon and now I'll need to hit something to avoid going for Pike. "Half the _man_ my father was?"

Nothing hides the scorn in my voice, the contempt. For years I heard that line when someone mentioned my brother, about how much he would be- _should_ be- like our father. And then he ran away, and suddenly I was compared, but no one looked far before George left because I wasn't a son. I was a girl. A girl to carry on Captain George Kirk's legacy. For all the bullshit about Starfleet's diversity, they don't do much in the way of gender equality because until George ran away I was just a footnote.

"Half the person your father was," Pike stands now, too, but looks completely unruffled. Most people look surprised when they realize I probably have more testosterone in me than any man, though my curves and ample breasts- annoying things when you're trying to win a bar fight- wouldn't show it. That, or estrogen hit a violent streak when it met me.

"Starfleet could use you, Jenna. You could be an officer in four years, have your own ship in eight!"

My fists clench at my sides; he's getting under my skin, now. Much more efficiently than anyone else in this hellhole has in the last five years. Pike grabs his jacket and makes for the door.

"Riverside shipyard. Shuttle for new recruits leaves tomorrow, 0800." Heading to shove past him through the door, Pike grabs my arm. Instinct demands that I break his wrist and land him on his back. Logic tells me that this is precisely a show that he doesn't care if I'm an angry girl, or a tripped-up adrenaline junkie. Rational thought says he knows I can be more.

"Your father was Captain of a starship for twelve minutes. I dare you to do better." We lock eyes, and then he is gone.

*

By the time I return to my campus apartment I am reeling from all of the aches and pains from the fight- so much for a gender gap in Starfleet. That cadet didn't even seem to register that I was a girl while he was trying to punch the living daylights out of me- and the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed before and after my beating. The once luxurious purple dress goes in the trashcan along with my one remaining shoe, which is heelless and missing most of the satin lining. Things of quality never last with my lifestyle; I don't know why I keep buying them.

"Oh my god, what happened to you?" Kora exclaims when I stumble into bed in nothing but my tan skin, showing off the stiletto bruises, my black eye and bloody face, the glass cuts lining my legs.

               "Starfleet bastards got a little touchy," I mumble, and then drift off before she can berate me for going to a bar and getting into trouble the night before a final. Back at the bar I promised myself that I might not go, that I didn't want to be "George Kirk's daughter" for eight years at the academy. But my mind was made up as soon as Pike dared me to do better.

*

My letter of resignation to the college has been sent, my stuff left to Kora and whoever the hell might want it, an email left for my mother somewhere off-world doing whoever knows what for Starfleet’s intergalactic relations, my bike magnanimously donated to a maintenance worker in the shipyard who probably had to take the community bus to work before now. I am ready for Starfleet- ready for space.

               Pike's expression is one of self-satisfaction when he sees me striding towards him with nothing but the cloths on my back, bank and ID cards in my pocket. My stomach roils when I consider the ramifications of what I am doing- of the future that has unfurled before me like the horizon thanks to this man, and for the first time I feel a hint of fear. No need to let him notice my sweaty palms or quivering fingers.

               "Four years?" I salute him as I saunter up the ship's ramp. "I'll do it in three."

               Aboard the shuttle dull metal and queasy looking passengers greet me, seats whose plastic backs are like sitting on rocks and harnesses to keep us strapped in once zero gravity kicks in. These kinds of cruisers are too small to bother with gravity generators- that kind of technology is reserved for starships and space stations.

               And wonder of wonders, right across from the doorway are the cadets from the bar fight, including the stoic dark-skinned girl and blondie. Her expression sours upon my arrival, but the sight of her smarting scalp and the bruises around her throat only widen my smile. Her boyfriend growls at me, and suddenly bears a striking resemblance to a Rottweiler.

               "At ease, cadets." Giving them a sloppy salute as well, I dodge Sydney's kick and land in the seat in the row across them. "Never did get that last name." I call to Dylan, who looks up at me sheepishly.

               "Never will," Sydney hisses.

               I shrug. I guess that's the end of that. Before I can fully appreciate the glow of triumph- a useful tool in combating fear, I've found- a loud voice rends the air in the shuttle. All eyes turn to the 30-something man being forced from the bathroom compartment by a female flight officer.

               "Are you people deaf? I told you I don't need a doctor, dammit! I _am_ a doctor!" His voice is a gruff southern lilt, and the harsh lines on his face and dull black hair give him the added appearance of a prisoner just waiting for the axe to fall.

               The female officer is taking none of his crap.

               "You need to find a seat-"

               "I had one, in the bathroom- with no windows-"

"Sir, for your own safety, sit down, or I will _make_ you sit down..."

"I suffer from aviaphobia; 'case you don't understand big words it means 'fear of dying in something that flies'-"

"... do you hear me? _Right now, sir._ " For a moment the heat of their glares fills the entire ship with heat, but then the woman releases his arm and he drops down into a seat- right next to mine.

               Not a second after he has buckled up the ship rises off the ground with a small shudder, and as it torques to one side the man grips his armrests. Pale and sweating, he glances at me with wide eyes and confesses in a tight voice, "I might throw up on you."

               "I think these things are pretty safe-"

"Don't pander to me, kid," he growls, taking a drink from his hip flask that smells, wonderfully, like vodka. "One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. Solar flare might cook us in our seats. And wait till you're sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles, see if you're still so relaxed when your eyeballs are bleeding. Space is disease and danger, wrapped in darkness and silence."

Well, this guy is just downright _cheerful._

"I hate to break it to you," I say softly, "But Starfleet operates in space."

"Yeah, well..." he shrugs, taking another sip from his flask and giving me an appraising look that ends in a "what the hell" kind of expression. My kind of expression. "My ex-wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce; I got nowhere to go but up. Leonard McCoy."

We awkwardly shake hands sideways, unable to shift very much in our seats.

"Jenna Kirk," I supply. And, as an afterthought, "You really gonna throw up...?"

               "Maybe."


	7. Academy Days

**Three Years Later**

That stupid Uhura girl _still_ hasn't sent me the project.

               Burying my head in my hands, allowing my fingers to track their way up through my hair to tangle in the too-long strands, I let out a small growl of frustration. It becomes one of pain when I can't untangle my fingers, and I mentally curse myself for not cutting my hair. Something about "new beginnings," in my mind, had been equated with changing hairstyles, but the almost-shoulder-length dirty blonde is driving me crazy.

               Scowling, I push myself away from the computer and flop onto the bed, eyes lazily tracing the white grooves in the ceiling of the tiny box Starfleet likes to call a "dorm." Really, those students forced to live on campus are just shoved into little cubicles that somehow fit together to form long, low compounds on the edges of the academy.

At this point I consider stalking to Uhura's own room to give her a piece of my mind, but the idea of moving isn't very appealing. Instead, I elect to sigh dramatically and let my eyes drift shut, ignoring the beeping of the computer that signals an incoming message.

_Finally._

But I've already given up. Draping an arm over my face, I let the brief, wistful image of a Saturday with no astrology project to do wash over me.

It isn't that I don't like astrology- it is one of my favorite subjects- it is just that the one person the professor always seems to pair me with is the only cadet in the whole academy I dislike to the point of considering sabotaging the project.

               Uhura, the dark-skinned girl from that providential bar fight, is in most of my other classes too, but from the moment I punched Sydney any hope of friendship between us was lost. Apparently the teachers don't seem to notice the almost instinctive hatred we bear for one another, because this is the third time we've been paired for a project in the past semester alone.

               What is worse is that I even tried to be friends, but we got so snippety with each other that Uhura refused to tell me her full name and I refused to share her half of our first quarter physics presentation until the day it was due, which drove a control freak like Uhura crazy.

               It looks as though this time, three years later, it is going to be the exact same situation. Unless I stop being lazy and check to see if it is, in fact, Uhura, sending me our constellation model to annotate.

               Groaning, I roll off the bed and onto the floor, grabbing my communicator from on top of the desk and punching in Bones' number.

From the moment Bones didn't throw up on me on the recruitment shuttle, we've been motley companions, and over the last year of Bones tutoring me in emergency medical techniques- "I don't need to take these 'pansy rescue classes' because I'm in the advanced medical track, Jenna. Now suck it up and kiss the mannequin."-, me keeping him from drinking- mostly by drinking all of his alcohol myself-, and him sitting through five hours in the campus ER after I bungee-jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge on a bet that almost got me kicked out of the Academy, we've become like siblings. The kind of platonic relationship that says "I love you too much to kill you," in the most affectionate way possible.

Which is why, when I have to call three times, I'm leaning more to the "kill you" side.

"What is it, Jenna?" His voice comes over the speaker where I set it on the floor next to me.

"I'm booooooooored," I moan, blinking to keep the sunlight from the window out of my eyes.

"Jenna, I'm in the middle of proctoring a medical exam and had to duck out because you used my _emergency number._ You called because you were bored?" Ignoring his annoyed tone, I press the communicator to my ear as I flip onto my back. Even when lazily relaxing I can't stop moving.

"Just because you got an assignment early doesn't mean you get to use your new high-and-mighty Officer powers to ignore me," I pout, remembering with annoyance and pride when Bones got his duty orders; U.S.S. Enterprise, to be the newest ship in the whole fleet once she's finished being tested to ensure soundness of construction. It's wonderful, because after only three years the drunk former army doctor has become a respectable, certified Federation Doctor, but it sucks majorly because it means Bones is now an officer, on rank with the academy professors, and I am still only in my third year with little hope of ever getting starship duty orders after the incident on the U.S.S. Farragunt.

"I'm working, not ignoring you!"

"I had to call _three times."_

"Yeah, well call again in five hours, maybe I'll like you enough to get a beer."

He hangs up, and I ignore the incessant beeping of my computer which means Uhura is trying to set up a face-to-face meeting.

Screw this, screw the stupid project, screw _her._

_I'm so done with school._

*

**Klingon Prison Planet**

Nero lay on the floor of his cell, semi-conscious and looking like death. Sweat from working on the stone fields had already frozen to his skin, which was ashy in the thin light of his cell. When the two Klingon guards entered, his half-open eyes didn't even twitch into focus.

               "The day you've been waiting for is upon us, Silent One. And look. No sign of salvation. No sign of change. Just more pain," one of them laughed in harsh, guttural Common, but still Nero didn't move. Motioning to his companion, the Klingon moved his hands beneath Nero's shoulders and they prepared to lift him.

               Then, something miraculous happened- the scarred, ashen, exhausted Romulan snapped to life. Fists flying, blood flew and his foot smashed in the windpipe of one of the guards as he snapped the neck of the other. In less than ten seconds both guards were on the floor either dead or dying softly, and Nero stood over them splashed with blood from their split skin. Reaching down, his stony face was thrown into relief by the light as he grabbed both of their rifles.

               Now was the day he had waited for. Their time had finally come.

               Quickly and with purpose he strode through the halls of the prison, taking out any guards he met with ease. When he finally reached his desired cell he shot off the lock and sparks flew, lighting up the dank prison for a fraction of a second.

               Within Ayel, draped in chains, looked up, eyes widening when he saw his captain. His face, too, was pale and scarred, but as he looked over the long, winding scars that cut through the tattoos on his captain's chest, the look went from surprise to determination.

               For the first time in years, Nero opened his mouth and, voice raspy with disuse but no less terrifying for it, spoke.

"The wait is over."

*

**Starfleet Academy**

Uhura's made her opinion of me as slacker very apparent, and we clash regularly both during group projects, forum debates, and club meetings- unfortunately we both share an interest in xenolinguistics, and I am treasurer for the academy's club while she is, infuriatingly, vice president.

               After the umpteenth time we end up commanding the entirety of class time arguing about one point in our different arguments for the evolution of the southernmost Klingon dialects, Bones asks when we're going to announce a date.

               "Can we _please_ not talk about that perfectionist Barbie for a minute, Bones?" I scowl, skipping down the stairs of the lecture-and-debate hall two at a time. "Besides, I already have a date."

               "Woah woah woah, unless you mean a date with your _textbooks_ there's something wrong with this picture," Bones exclaims, hurrying to catch up with me.

I ignore him, eyes wandering across the sea of red uniforms covering the campus lawn to the glittering, miraculous view of San Francisco across the bay. The Golden Gate Bridge stretches far into the distance, piercing the air and pure blue sky. A breeze washes over my head, and for a moment I expect my hair to tangle around my face before remembering how short it is. I brush a hand over the boy cut subconsciously, enjoying the practicality of it- and the fact that I look pretty bad ass.

               "So you _will_ do it for me, right?" I say abruptly, turning with my eyebrows raised hopefully.

               Instead of falling for my pleading face, he laughs. "I have _no_ interest, Jenna."

"I didn't ask if you have interest, I asked if you'd do it."

               "I'm about to ask you an obvious question: why bother?" We're in the middle of the ocean of cadets now, but completely ignored.

               "This coming from the guy who just told me that I should waste time preparing?" I counter, and he frowns. "Fine; I'm bothering because I've failed twice."

               "And you're determined to make it three!" he exclaims. "We've all failed it- that's the point! No one goes back for seconds, let alone thirds. It's not like you need it to graduate."

               "So, Bones, ask yourself this: why do they make us take it?"

               "I told you to stop calling me that," he mutters. "You know, you're _very_ annoying sometimes."

               But that's pretty much a "Yes" as far as I'm concerned.

               "And you're the greatest," I grin, slapping him on the arm. "Thank you."

               "You'd better study for it this time!" he calls when I begin to skip away, smile still wide.

               "Oh no, Bones- I told you, I've got a date!"

               "Seriously, stop calling me 'Bones'!" he yells. Apparently, he underestimates my hearing, because before I slip completely out of sight into the crowd heading for the boys' dorms, I hear him mutter "Bones" to himself snidely.

*

Afternoon sunlight slants through the shades pulled down over the windows in the little dorm which acts as office, study space, living room, and bedroom for its strawberry-blonde occupant. The shafts of golden light cut across our half-naked bodies as they roll on the bed, lips together, stripped to nothing but our underwear.

"Jenna... I think I love you," Dylan moans against my neck, hands wandering up and down my back as his lips caress my skin. As soon as the words leave him all of the passion is sucked out of the room faster than a trash compartment in a starship opened in deep space.

               "That's... weird," I pant. The lights come on at Dylan's word.

               "That's _weird_? What, you don't love me too?" he asks, looking confused and wounded. Crap. I knew I shouldn't have followed up with him, but he's so sweet and nice and I could have liked him- if he hadn't just said the "L" word.

               "Well-"

               Pushing myself up and away from him, he braces himself on his elbows, gently toned chest glistening with sweat, hurt in his eyes. Luckily, a silhouette and knock at the door to Dylan's dorm send both of us scrambling into a less compromising situation.

               "Dylan, I'm coming in," a voice says over the room's intercom. I cuss, and Dylan looks at me in alarm.

               "What's wrong?" he asks even as he scrambles for a pair of pants.

"Cadet Uhura and I aren't exactly best friends," I grit out as I drop to the floor and squirm under his bed, ignoring the feel of the carpet against my half-naked body. "Why is she even here?" I hiss.

"We're working on a project together- but she never needs help with anything!" Dylan responds as he yanks a shirt on. I snort; that's very Uhura.

Not a second later there is a swishing sound and the door slides open to reveal Uhura's slender legs clad in black standard-issue boots. They walk in like they own the place.

               "I'm sorry, was I interrupting something?" she asks, sounding genuinely apologetic, but there is a note of urgency in her voice.

               When Dylan's voice comes from across the room at his desk, I blank mentally. He's faster than I gave him credit for-

               "No, not at all. Just running some simulations for our Astrophysics presentation. Took a nap in-between," Dylan sounds sheepish- not a bad liar, but I suspect Uhura's agitation is the only thing keeping her from calling him out.

               "Anyways, is there something you needed? I thought you were going to be in the long-range sensor lab all night."

               "I was supposed to be, but- this is what I need your help with- I picked up an emergency transmission from a Klingon prison planet -- there was an escape and a ship stolen from th-"

               In trying to get into a more comfortable position, I bang my head on the bottom of Dylan's mattress. The resulting squeak is barely audible, even to me, but Uhura stiffens.

               "I hate to ask you to leave the mouth-breather hiding under your bed, but I need your help de-coding the rest of the emergency transmission," Uhura snaps, and when I pop up behind the bed I see her crossed arms and tense expression, which immediately gets furious when she sees me.

               "Your hearing is scary- you sure both your parents are human?"

               "What the hell are you doing with _her_ in here?" Uhura exclaims, looking at Dylan in shock. Immediately he swallows, looking beyond nervous.

               "I-"

               "What gives you the right to tell him what he can and can't do in his own room?" I say angrily as I gather up my cloths.

               "The fact that he's like my little brother!" she practically screams, throwing pieces of my uniform into my arms. "And it's his ass too if administration catches you in here! There's also the fact that you're lazy, arrogant, _manizing-"_

               "Keep your head on- you and I have a big day tomorrow!" I say as I yank on one of my boots. Shoving the other into my arms, Uhura practically throws me out of the room.

"You're going to fail," she spits venomously, but I can't pass up another opportunity to ameliorate our lovely relationship.

               "If I pass, will you tell me your first name?"

               " _No._ Now get out!"

               "You know, I think you've completely misjudged me," I babble, blowing a kiss at Dylan under Uhura's arms, which block me out of the dorm. "Because I think the fact that you picked up a transmission from a Klingon prison escape is _very_ impressive-"

               She closes the door on me, leaving me in the hallway to put on my other boot and zip my jacket closed while I listen to she and Dylan argue. Something tells me that they won't get much work done on their project _or_ those transmissions tonight.

"She's bad news!" Uhura's voice reaches me as I walk away, feeling both guilty for putting Dylan in the middle of our catfight and exhilarated from said fight.

               "I love her!"

               Poor kid; definitely too sweet for me.


	8. Vignettes from Into Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd written more from Star Trek: 2009, like her meeting Spock Prime... guess not. oh well.

**En Route to Nibiru, Two Years Later**

Small, transparent bubbles rest on the surface of the pie, stealing a soft golden glow from the delicately sculpted meringue surface. Such a delectable treat deserves more than the simple glass stand and cover, but at least it is see-through. Behind the finger-smudged glass rests a perfect specimen; a piece of art comprised of whipped white clouds enclosed by a graham-cracker brown crust, lovingly burnt here and there to match crisp with fluffy. Lacy and lovely, I can just imagine it melting in my mouth like spun sugar but infinitely more satisfying in its lemony zing rather than cloying sweet.

               I let out a small sigh of longing just as the door of my quarters slides open with a small, barely-perceptible _swoosh._ Dragging myself away from the image, I swing my chair around to face the visitor.

               "What can I do for you, Spock?" I ask, trying to sound more like a captain than a girl homesick for lemon-meringue pie.

               "Our course for Nibiru has been laid in, yet- why is there a holograph of a human pastry on your desk?"

               " _'Human pastry_?'" I exclaim, enlarging the hologram until it is zoomed past the glass container and up close next to the meringue, which looks even more mouth-watering. "Spock, this is not just a _human pastry,_ this is a sample of the finest pie in America made to order at the greatest diner in America- Iowa's Own."

One of his eyebrows quirks up, but he says nothing.

               "Come on, Spock- you spent your entire land leave before this mission _on Earth._ How have you not had lemon-meringue pie?"

               "I was unaware of its significance as a rite of passage." Sounding like he very much doubts it is of cultural importance, Spock looks away from the hologram and directly at me. "Pie aside-"

               "No! There is no 'pie aside' here, Spock. I'm having chef make lemon-meringue pie tonight and you will eat it and love it and-" His hand comes down on top of mine before I can reach for the galley's comm. link button. Electricity shoots through my skin at the contact; stiffening, I turn to him.

"Pie _aside_ , Captain," quickly his hand moves from behind and to behind his back, but his look is stern. Leaning back in my chair, I listen, annoyed. "Due to recent activity around planets which have only just developed warp capability, Starfleet regulation dictates that we must continue past them no faster than warp four."

               "Which means that our journey will be extended by almost two weeks," I deadpan. As much as I love being Captain, two weeks in warp-space with a crew already excited and impatient for our first mission isn't exactly an ideal position to find oneself in.

               "That is correct, Captain," Spock affirms, and then looks at me pointedly, as if daring me to complain about regulations.

               _I don't need your sass right now, Spock,_ I think heatedly. For someone with no emotion, ever since he met Spock Prime and I started attempting to facilitate our "life-changing friendship," I've been getting a lot of snark from the first officer when it comes to leading this ship my own way. It takes all of my effort not to call him out for the whole hand-thing and directly stopping me from doing something.

               Grimacing, I turn back to my desk and press the comm. button.

               "Mr. Sulu, as soon as we hit the Soran System slow us to warp four."

               "Yes, Captain."

               As soon as Sulu closes the comm. link I turn to Spock, fixing him with a withering stare, all thoughts of sharing pie with him out the window. Darn the Vulcan- all he does is blink. He must get the attitude from his human side.

               "Thank you for alerting me, Mr. Spock. We may proceed to the bridge." Brushing past him, all business now, I focus on keeping my back ramrod straight as Spock strides beside and just a little ways behind me.

               "If I may speak freely, Captain?"

               "Of course, Spock," I prepare myself for more friendly advice used to mask critiques of my command abilities. I think he genuinely wants to help- most of the time- but that friendship Spock Prime talked about couldn't happen fast enough. I've heard enough of his logical "advice" to know that he would be a formidable first officer if we could just be on the same side every now and then.

"It has occurred to me that perhaps it has slipped your mind to chart our current starpath yourself, rather than merely dictating all responsibilities of navigation to Mr. Sulu. As captain it is your duty to keep this ship working smoothly and I would suggest taking a more hands-on approach with regard to our mission, lest it appear as though you are not truly participating with the crew."

               My step slows and I tighten my voice, looking at him out of the corner of my narrowed eyes.

               "It sounds like you're 'suggesting' that I'm not fit to command this ship."

               "That was not my intention, Captain. I merely wished to offer some advice to facilitate your transition into command."

               I grit my teeth and one hand clenches involuntarily into a fist, but I manage to bite back a snappy retort about how I have been Captain for three months and so far have not had any problems.

               "Come back when your 'advice' is a little less condescending." I punch the button on the side of the lift when we step in, and the four seconds spent in the small glass tube are in silence.

               "Mr. Sulu- proximity to the Soran System?" I ask as soon as we enter the bridge in a _whoosh_ of the lift doors, heading straight for my chair and Spock for his post at the sciences panel.

               "Half an hour until we reach the edges, Captain. Current speed is warp 7."

               "Well done, Mr. Sulu. Mr. Chekov, open the comm." Spinning around slowly, I flash the youngest member of our crew a smile, and he happily obliges.

               "Comm. link active, keptin."

               Hold down the button, and- "Attention crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise, this is Captain Kirk speaking. In approximately thirty minutes we will reach the edge of the Soran System, a cluster of largely pre-warp planets. Per StarFleet regulations we are unable to travel through the system at faster than warp 4, so our trip has just been extended by two weeks, during which we will prepare for our exploratory mission of the planet Niribu, to be carried out under Prime Directive 4459- observe but do not interfere." I stare at Spock as I say this, knowing that the specific listing of Starfleet protocols will sooth his ruffled feathers. He gives a small nod, and- anger having faded by now- I shoot him a grin, which sends him promptly back to his panel.

               "On a more positive note, lemon-meringue pie will be served in the galley tonight. Kirk out."

*

**Qo'nos, Klingon Planet**

"I'm going down," I say, ignoring Spock's alarmed look as he follows me out of the bridge.

"With all due respect, this ship needs her Captain-"

"No she doesn't, Spock."

I'm just a girl who's gotten lucky enough times to make it look like talent; if being in the right place at the right time can be called talent. At this point almost everyone on the bridge would make a better captain than me, and every one of them is less expendable. If I died now they would still have Spock- who is every inch the more effective leader. More than once it has crossed my mind that without Spock Prime's advice he would still be captain. I owe my career to Spock himself- and Captain Pike's generosity and faith.

               That is why I have to take these missions myself. Because my life is the one of least value aboard the entire ship. If I die in action there will be someone even more qualified to replace me, and no empty niche aboard the ecosystem of Enterprise.

*

**Reactor Core, Enterprise**

I can feel my entire body revolting against life, every beat of my heart a strain as the radiation attacks my cells and rips me apart from the inside out, scrambling my DNA like so many eggs. My blood boils in my veins, but as soon as I see Spock it is a little easier to ignore the haze of pain.

Then he kneels down so his eyes are almost level with mine, and the pain comes back tenfold. Weakly, I reach up to press the button that will seal off the chamber indefinitely, and watch the horror dawn in him.

               "I'm scared, Spock," I choke out. "Help me not to be." When you're dying, suddenly pride isn't such a big issue anymore. "How do you choose not to feel?"

               Emotion crumbles his normally stoic expression in a display that just breaks my heart even further.

               "I do not know.... Right now I am failing."

               And that hits me worse than anything.

               I am dying without ever having known what his friendship feels like- the true, honest, irreplaceable bond I felt when Spock Prime showed me his memories on Delta Vega. We almost had it, too; I felt something that I knew was the stirring Spock Prime spoke about, the feeling that Spock wasn't just some sassy emotionless hobgoblin who was too rigid to stick a toe out of line. That knowing him would change my life forever.

               _"A friendship which will define you both."_

I have never been one for hysterics or sappy emotional stuff, but my distress at knowing I will never get to experience Spock at his best, or feel the thrill of victory because this exceptional Vulcan was at my side, is only just outstripped by the agony that is death via warp core radiation.

               "I want you to know why I couldn't let you die," I pull myself up to be closer to the door, just inches of glass between us. "Why I went back for you."

               A bout of coughing interrupts, and my blood specks the door.

               One tear dives from Spock's eye, his mouth moving to finish what I started.

               "Because you are my friend."

_Oh God..._

_I don't want to go._

My palm, sweaty and sticky, strains to hold itself against the door. On the other side Spock's hand covers mine in the traditional Vulcan salute.

_Spock-_


	9. The Aftermath

**Spock's Apartment, Two Months after the Khan Incident**

His quarters are sparse, but even with their minimal furnishings manages to convey a warmth and closeness that I never would have associated with the stoic Vulcan. Deep maroon walls hung with glittering dark drapes, ancient Vulcan bronze decorations and ancient texts, and warm low light emanating from panels painted with High Vulcan language all give it the air of a cavern of sorts, a very noble and decorated cavern. The abundance of deep reds and dust oranges mimics Vulcan's desert-covered surface, while the closeness of all the polished darkwood and stone furniture brings to mind the closely packed buildings and immersive architectural styles of ancient Vulcan structures. It is his home planet, and his world, all contained within these few rooms.

In one corner is a large, shallow glass bowl held up by a delicately crafted twisting bronze stand, with several candles floating on the surface of red-stained water. Moving closer, I note the ruins carved into the metal candle holders as they glide across the water's surface, and wonder absently if Uhura would be able to read them.

               "What is this?" I ask, reaching out to trace the rim of the bowl. As soon as my skin comes in contact with it, a feeling of deeply rooted sadness wells up inside me, and the desire like a flame I have been kindling all night immediately dies in my chest. "I- Spock, I feel..."

"That is a well of souls. A tool used to help suppress emotion by separating it physically from our minds." Gently taking my hand, Spock lifts my fingers away from the glass. Away from the well of souls all of my passion comes roiling back to me, though somewhat tempered by this intimate show of Spock's soul.

"And those candles, they represent... periods of sadness?" I manage to choke out. All I want to do is turn away and forget the well, but I can't, because even though the sadness is gone the lingering feeling of emptiness remains. Like I have lost something innumerably precious and can't seem to figure out how to get it back.

               "One for my mother, one for my planet, one for... myself."  Spock's fingers tighten around mine, and although his eyes linger on the little candles he guides my face away. "I forget, sometimes, that for humans the well often has the opposite effect of conjuring the repressed feelings. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, Spock." Now that I am not looking at it, it is easier to focus on the here and now, and when we leave the well for the red and earth-brown draped bedroom my passion returns like a flashfire.

I pull his collar down so that we are eye to eye, passion bubbling out of me in a thrill of laughter that makes him look mildly alarmed. His eyebrows make the emotion seem radical, though realistically he is probably channeling it away right now and making the logical conclusion that my madness is caused by rampaging human hormones.

               He would mostly be right.

               "I know you aren't big on the whole 'feelings' thing, but don't worry- I've got enough for the both of us." Grinning wickedly, I let my deft fingers move down his shirt pulling buttons apart wherever I go. Spock instantly stiffens against me, and I frown. "If you go all cold and logical on me, Spock, so help me I will castrate you while you sleep."

               "One minute you are violently expressing passion for me, and the next my physical wellbeing is threatened? Jenna, your emotions are highly volatile and-"

               We are rapidly approaching the bed when I cut him off with a long, passionate kiss. I wasn't positive about this before now, no matter how I felt in the hospital, but his lips answer with just as much eagerness as mine. So there _is_ some life beneath this cold corpse of a man.

               "Shut up and help me undress. It's _logical_ to help a lady," I mutter against his lips.

               "I do not think you qualify." Yet his hands unclasp my dress, and it slips down my body just as I rip back his shirt from his chest. By now the heat in the room is oppressive, but it doesn't nearly match the fire roaring in my chest, the lust pounding in my veins. I want him- more than I have ever wanted anything, so much so that I finally understand the way Old Spock looked at me when we first met on Delta Vega. I had known he was hiding something then, but now I realize that it wasn't just friendship he missed, it was _love_. Or at least the Vulcan equivalent. In the other universe he and I were together. That is why he pushed so hard for me to give this Spock another chance. He knew we would be together. Here, like this, and I am immeasurably grateful for it.

When I first met Spock, "passionate" was the word furthest in my mind from him, but amidst the smooth, luxurious sheets on his low platform bed I realize that Spock wasn't lying when he said that emotions run deep within his race. There is more emotion there than I have ever felt from anyone, and for once it actually shows.

               "Whatever I have done in the past, do not doubt what I admit to feeling now," he whispers in my ear before we kiss again, ice and fire meeting beautifully as our minds and bodies meld together in the heat and passion of such a conflicting and mutual admiration for one another.

*

Afterwards, the sun begins to peak through the woven curtains and I lay with my head against his chest, his arms by his sides as if he doesn't know what to do with them until I wiggle closer and he allows one hand to drape across my shoulders. Even though he is silent, with my head against his chest I can feel the pounding of his heart, the rapid in and out of his lungs.

               Swallowing hard, he says "I... have never felt so many pleasurable feelings- simultaneously before. Indeed, I... I never knew that such things existed." His tone conveys wonder, pleasure, and just a hint of bewildered satisfaction. In short; just like me when I first lost it to an offworlder when I was eighteen.

               My hair- growing out since his comment about his preference for long hair- brushes across his chest as I left myself onto my elbows and stare at him in shock.

               "Haven't you ever done this with a Vulcan female, before?" I am half teasing, but I should have known he would take the question literally. He shakes his head at the ceiling.

               "Actually, I have not. Upon my acceptance into Starfleet, when the _pon farr_ mating cycle began I had treatment to reduce the chemical imbalances and prevent _plak tow_ from occurring. Thus I have passed one cycle without the need for physical or telepathic release."

               This information silences me for a moment. I was aware of _pon farr_ before now- it is not discussed outwardly, but Bones is one of the only doctors permitted to deal with Vulcan officers during their cycles so by default I know the basics. Somehow it never occurred to me to equate Spock with a giant angry ball of raging Vulcan hormones that demanded release or death.

               "Do all Vulcan Starfleet officers get treatment instead of doing it traditionally?"

"Only those lacking mates or willing partners."

               "That's why you were missing for the entire week of requested land leave before the Nibiru mission!" Starting up, I stare at Spock in wonder. That must have been when his seven year cycle hit- and the reason why Bones wouldn't talk about it!

               Suddenly uncomfortable with the image of Spock going crazy in a tiny white cell isn't the funniest thing on Earth. The idea that Spock was completely out of it the first week of our new mission- right before the Nibiru mission- explains a lot of his later behavior.

               "I chose to undergo treatment on land, and would have done so aboard the ship had I not believed it to be detrimental to my ability to perform my duties admirably."

               "Well, you won't ever have to do that again." At my suggested eyebrow wiggle, Spock smiles. Just a little quirk of the lips, but it's enough for now. I can't ask him to abandon logic forever. "And by the way- there's no way I'm waiting every seven years."

               "It would be unnecessary for you to, Captain. But on a more pressing note, now that we are officially together we cannot allow our relationship to impair our abilities when aboard the Enterprise. Otherwise I will have to request a transfer in order to preserve our professional integrity."

               And just like that the fuzzy feelings are gone, the passion is dead, and Spock is himself again. It takes everything I have not to act infantile and smack him in the chest. As it is, I grit my teeth and slide away from him out of the bed, not bothering to cover myself with the sheet before standing.

               "Spock, when you want a girl to like you, you don't _suggest leaving her_ because of work."

               "Jenna, do not misinterpret my priorities-" When he gets up as well- after grabbing for a black robe, how Vulcan- and tries to touch me, I flinch away. Cold shoulder time.

               "Your priorities are obviously still misaligned," I spit venomously. "Look, there is nothing in this world that I care about more than the Enterprise, and being part of Starfleet. They're my family, Spock, but some things are meant to be kept separate. If you rank Starfleet against me constantly, this isn't going to work."

               "I am sorry, but this is harder to do for me than you, Jenna. Vulcans are not used to processing so many emotions into different spheres of control. It is illogical and unnecessary on our planet."

               It is a good sign that he doesn't pull away when I initiate physical contact, but neither does he pull me closer. I smother a sigh- this is going to be one hell of a balancing act.

               "I understand that it's different, and difficult, but you have to at least try. For humans, love is sort of penultimate... If that's even what this is. Loyalty to one's mate transcends outward duties." My pace quickens before he can interrupt with an observation about faulty human logic. "If this thing, whatever it is, goes anywhere, we both need to understand each other's priorities, and realize that we can't ask too much of each other. For now, we should just... continue to perform 'admirably' and see how it goes, alright?"

His head cocks to the side for a few seconds as he considers; I can practically see the gears winding in his logical Vulcan mind. It would be cute if he weren't weighing the rationality of "mate before prime directive."

               "Your logic is sound and, if I may add, a rather ingenuitive solution to our problem. I find your way of thinking to be highly... stimulating. Physically."

"That's what every girl is dying to hear." And then I kiss him again, and we both realize the impracticality of the robe. Unfortunately, that moment is when both our comms beep.

               "It appears that our leave has been canceled prematurely," Spock observes before picking his up.

               I curse under my breath, despite the smallest thrill of excitement that accompanies the possibility of returning to the Enterprise. I've been enjoying this leave immensely, but it was forced in the first place and... I miss my family. My baby. "You don't say."

               "The meaning of your human euphemism escapes me," Spock remarks from the closet on the other side of the room.

My com screen beeps at me again and I open it.

_Report to Starfleet command 0800._

0800- that's less than an hour.

 "What's going on in there?" I ask when I hear a small grunt from the closet. To get a better view of what's going on I round the corner and enter the walk-in closet which is to my eternal surprise larger than a normal closet has any right to be. Most of it is different Starfleet uniforms, but at least half of the wall is taken up by elaborate robes and ceremonial pieces.

In the middle of the gargantuan closet is a half-dressed Spock struggling with putting on the top half of his grey and white first officer's uniform.

 "This... uh, this is some closet you've got here." Stifling a laugh, I reach out and help Spock's trembling fingers button his shirt. "Nice dresses, too."

 "They are Vulcan ceremonial robes and- slower, Jenna, these buttons are attached by a low-resistance thread-"

 "And your fingers are trembling."

 "I am unsure of the reason, as there is no physiological evidence..." his voice trails off in an unsure waver and then chokes in his throat as I wind my hands across his chest and around his back under his shirt.

 "It's called the morning after jitters. For a sex-starved Vulcan I expect they're significantly more violent," and more amusing to watch. The way his body responds to my touch is, I'll admit, completely satisfying considering how stoic his face is. It is nice to know that he can't hide his physical reaction, no matter how much he masks his emotions.

 "There, all better. To Command, then?"


	10. The Proposal

**Spock's Apartment**

"Jenna..." Spock says with uncertainty plain in his voice. I blink, and my brow furrows.

               "Spock, if I didn't know you better I'd say that you're nervous." Laughing, I attempt to twine my fingers with his. When his hands move to clasp behind his back, my arm falls to my side limply. After that first night he has _never_ denied me physical contact.

               "I have a rather important matter that I believe we must discuss before our new mission begins."

               "Permission to speak, my loyal first officer!" His mouth doesn't even twitch in a semblance of a smile.

               "These past few months have been... indescribable in the best of ways, yet it would be illogical for our relationship to continue as undefined and lacking parameters on such a crucial and long-lasting mission as the one Enterprise has recently been charged with. It is my belief that the most logical conclusion to this relationship would be the culmination of our affections for each other in a more defined way, that we may understand our limits and duties to both Starfleet and ourselves."

               "O-k... look, you lost me, Spock. Just say what you want to say- plainly, please." Moving away from me, Spock strides across the room over to where there is a small wooden box. He opens it and draws out a bracelet of dark, polished wood. When he presses it into my hands, I can feel the carved Vulcan lettering and see small bands of gold ringing the inside. It is simple, but pretty, and would fit easily around my wrist.

"I wish to declare _koon-ut so'lik_ ," he says.

               Blinking slowly, I swallow and try to remember if I should know what that means.

               "This is pretty, but I don't speak Vulcan, Spock." My mouth is suddenly very dry- why do I have the feeling that this is not just some little gift?

"I believe the terran equivalent is a marriage proposal. This bracelet is a display of my intentions towards you, to show that we are ready to advance to the _koon-ut-kal-if-fee."_

"Woah-woah-woah, you want to _marry me_?!" I splutter, for once in my life at a loss for words. Even when I was in bed with him, marriage was the farthest thing from my mind. I don't know where I expected this relationship to go, but it wasn't here.

"Are you displeased by this?" _Agh, don't look at me like that, Spock, with your stupid sad eyebrows and puppy dog eyes..._

"I-I don't know what to think about this. We've only been together for eight months! I mean, I love you, but why now?"

"We are about to set out on a five year exploratory mission; I was under the belief that our relationship would be easier if solidified, and that we would both enjoy each other's affections once bound by promises of eternity. Additionally, continuing on with an undefined relationship was illogical considering out depth of feeling for each other... Unless I have misinterpreted your signals?"

That is when what he said before he gave me the bracelet really catches up with me, and I understand what he is saying. I shove the bracelet at him and step away angrily.

"So after all we've been through, all you can say about wanting to marry me is that it is 'logical?' I'm just the _logical_ choice?" Venom is practically dripping from my voice; I haven't been this mad since the end of the Nibiru Incident.

"I can see that I have made some error-"

"You bet you've made an error!" He attempts to take my hand, but I jerk away and stomp towards the door. "And here is my 'logical' response!"

When the door slams behind me I feel a rush of satisfaction, quickly drowned out by the terrible, gnawing feeling in my stomach.

*

**Vulcan Embassy, San Francisco**

"Father," Spock inclined his head respectfully, and when Sarek made no move to dismiss him, walked into the conference room.

               For a moment both stood in a somewhat meditative silence- at least on Sarek's part. For all the familiar furnishings and atmosphere inside the Vulcan diplomatic compound Spock could not connect with his heritage or the deep-seated sense of calm which accompanied his home world. There was too much built up emotion in his chest, too powerful for him to control with a few breathing exercises. But of course, Sarek could see that the instant he walked in.

               "You know you are always able to speak your thoughts in my presence, Spock." Sarek's gaze fell on Spock calmly, and in his eyes Spock could now detect a fondness that had never been there before but for a few choice occasions. In his time onboard Enterprise he had begun to understand the human saying "The eyes are the window to the soul," and had realized with a shock that occasionally Vulcans were no exception to this rule.

               Spock took a small breath. "I presume you are aware of my relationship with Captain Jenna Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise?"

               "I am."

               Another interval, in which tea arrived and Sarek gestured for Spock to sit, but neither of them did.

               "Ever since my bond to T'Pring was nullified and both our minds freed from the bonds put upon us in childhood, there has been an emptiness in my mind which cannot be filled. Despite trying my patience and testing me to the very limits of my self-control, I have found that Jenna fills this void and leaves me wanting for nothing." Fists clenched, it was difficult for Spock to meet his father's eyes after such a profound declaration of fondness for a terran, but when he finally looked up there was- amazingly- no hint of anger or reproach.

               "Thus far our affections have logically been hidden from the majority of the crew and Starfleet officials, yet when Jenna expressed frustration at having to hide I found myself.... in agreement, with her. Yet when I proposed marriage as the most logical course in our relationship she refused. Father, your experience courting mother makes you the optimal candidate to explain why she would refuse the most logical choice of action. I do not understand, and I find it.... frustrating."

               Spock still did not sit, even when his father offered him tea. Instead he held the burning cup in his hands and let the scalding liquid scorch his throat. He wondered if he was the first Vulcan to ever display even minute signs of masochism. Fitting that it should be over something as human as love.

               "One thing that it took me a long time to learn about your mother is that humans tend to resent logic when it does not agree with their emotions or perceptions of a situation. Although it is considered sacred in their culture, humans insist that marriage is not a logical thing- but rather one of feeling, when no emotions are held back. Perhaps Captain Kirk expects an outpouring of emotion, so that she may be the own judge of your fitness for a mate, rather than the 'logical' approach."

               "But that is entirely against the Vulcan way. Jenna is aware of my choice to be entirely Vulcan, yet when I outlined our logical course- marriage, as we are prime mates for each other and our posting aboard the Enterprise will force us to learn to be both a team and a couple, thus strengthening our resolve and tolerance- she grew angry and displayed for several seconds her rather violent side. Tell me, how did you propose to mother?"

               Sarek, who had not once hesitated in this meeting, now found himself at an impasse. The ghost of his wife seemed so near- a trivial human superstition he was still attempting to purge from his mind- and he felt his composure slip. It had been almost two years since the destruction of Vulcan and her death, but the mere thought of Amanda as she slipped into fire tested Sarek to his very limit. At that moment his depth of feeling would have put any human to shame, but it was for Spock's sake that he buried those emotions until he could quietly deal with them later.

"Your... mother was a singularly irregular human, capable of more than merely understanding our culture, but of delving into it with the utmost sensitivity and care. It is unlikely that Captain Kirk possesses the same traits, or your mother's ability to understand that despite our rule of logic Vulcans are a race with highly volatile emotions, and that logic rules us not because we do not possess emotion, but because we hope to conquer it. Captain Kirk does not perhaps understand this, and sees your proposal as you merely taking the 'logical' course of action, rather than because you are willing to embrace human ideals for the sake of being her mate."

               Silence reigned as the two Vulcans silently took their own council, Sarek repeating the Mantra of Logic to assure his continued composure and Spock replaying his initial proposal in his head with the eyes of new understanding. Setting down the still-warm tea, Spock inclined his head ever so slightly to his father.

               "I see now that my failure to factor in Jenna's attachment to her own customs was the root of my failure, and I thank you for your council. I now have a favor to ask- one that is a most human tradition but which I now find has also been deeply ingrained in our own culture, on the rare occasion that Vulcans bonded at childhood do not fulfill the _koon-ut-kal-if-fee_."

               Sarek's eyebrows raised, but he merely motioned for Spock to continue.

               "On Earth, it is customary for one to secure the approval of one's parents before openly declaring your choice of mate- an obsolete practice in Jenna's circumstances as she has lost both her biological parents and mentor, Christopher Pike. I view your counsel in the highest regard, father, and it would do much to reassure me if you were to express a similar endearment to my choice of mate."

               Sarek was surprised at his son's choice of following a human tradition without his mate here to observe and judge him for it. Surprised, and proud. It showed how far Spock had come in embracing both sides of his heritage, and what he was willing to do even out of Jenna's sight in order to win her affection. A smile tugged at the old Vulcan's lips, and when he put a hand on Spock's shoulders it was with a warm expression.

               "Spock, your commitment to the Vulcan way has done you credit all your life, but your devotion to she whom you have come to love is infinitely more important than logic. I have never been more proud of you, and if your attempts to tame your wildfire mate should prove successful, it would be my honor to see you bonded at last to one who is not only your balance, but your equal."

               A deep, shuddering breath emanated from somewhere deep in Spock's chest; his father approved, and even wished him success. For a brief moment Spock allowed himself to feel a similar sense of pride, and happiness for his father's open speech.

               Then the moment passed, and Sarek took his hand from his son's shoulder to return to a rather stern countenance. Yet to Spock this was the epitome of who his father was- a pillar of stability and logic, always pointing the right way, always giving the most appropriate council because that is what parents do. They give the council which will lead to their offspring's success, and although Vulcans appeared cold to humans, their advice was not given because they wished to rule their young, but because they _cared._

               "Your approval has reassured me, father. Thank you for your time and wisdom. Live long and prosper."

               Sarek returned his son's customary salute, and Spock turned heel and strode from the room.

Although Sarek's advice had helped Spock to understand _why_ Jenna had reacted the way she did and an outline of how to better proceed, it did not help in determining exactly how to mend the error. Jenna was an exceptionally different woman, being the Captain of a starship and exceedingly stubborn; Spock could not fathom how her illogical mind would react to a second proposal attempt, and he did not favor the idea of risking another without first knowing how she would react. For such information he would need to find someone who knew Jenna as well as he did, but in a different capacity- one which required different areas of knowledge about Jenna. Not lover, but friend.

Spock headed immediately for the beaming chamber at Starfleet headquarters, the most logical person for the job already on his mind.

*

While somewhat enlightening, his father's counsel had not solved the problem at hand. It had, however, made Spock think of someone who could perhaps shed a little more light upon his problem.

               "Lieutenant Uhura, please report to my quarters as soon as your duties allow you to without suspicion." Snapping shut his communicator, Spock clasped both hands behind his back as he rounded a turn in the hallway that led to his quarters. It had not taken him long to walk from the Vulcan Embassy Compound to Starfleet headquarters, but instead of going to his office or his rooms in the officers' living building- where Jenna would no doubt be waiting- he had elected to return directly to Enterprise. Scotty had been kind enough not to ask questions when he requested to be beamed directly to the living quarters deck.

               When Uhura arrived Spock explained his predicament in the simplest terms he could muster, and watched her face grow more and more amused until she was practically in tears by the end of his tale.

"Spock, human women don't want to feel like marriage to them is _just_ logical," Uhura attempted to explain, but Spock couldn't grasp her meaning. It made no sense- in the way that humans, especially females, usually did.

"But there is no shame in being considered the most logical mate- I believe, to terrans, it would be considered a compliment." His reasoning got a sigh out of Uhura, whose bemused smile was somewhat irritating. Spock did not enjoy being a slave to trivial human technicalities of emotion. While somewhat enjoyable with Jenna, when others confounded him it proved to be the opposite of pleasurable.

               "Yes, but it doesn't _sound_ like a compliment. Humans enjoy being told that we're different. Belief in individuality is one of our driving traits. What Vulcans have referred to as an 'illogical precursor to narcissism or insanity' I believe."

               "I have never heard that quote before."

               "It's from some of the first Vulcan reports written after they discovered Earth a few hundred years ago. Their early studies showed a gap in understanding our motives and emotional obstacles- that gap is what you are experiencing now. Similar to a language barrier, but this time with comprehending alien emotion."           

               "Yet there has never been a gap in my emotional reasoning before now. For the Captain's sake I have made attempts to allow my human instincts to coincide with Vulcan logic and have been fairly successful. What I do not understand is why she would take affront to my referring to our marriage as a logical culmination of our affairs."

               When Uhura laughed out loud, Spock found himself more confused than ever. From his understanding of human behavior, Jenna should have taken it as a compliment that he believed marriage to her to be the only logical conclusion to their relationship, as opposed to him believing they were not compatible and therefore a union between them being illogical. Instead she acted hurt, and now the people who were supposed to help him understand were just testing his patience.

               "Lieutenant Uhura, if you have no relevant information to give me regarding my query, our meeting is done." Spock stood.

               "No, wait!" Covering her mouth, Uhura let out a few last giggles. "I'm sorry, Spock, it's just... another marker of human insanity is to find other people's problems amusing on occasion. I think I know how to help."

               "Then I would appreciate you divulging this information."

               "Humans want to feel special, and in a woman's case she wants to feel like she is the most important thing in the world to her significant other-"

               "But that is illogical- although one's mate is of great importance there are other duties paramount to-"

               Uhura put a finger over his lips.

               "Just listen, please." He blinked; she let her hand fall and continued, much to his relief. "The Captain is aware of your duties to Starfleet and to your race, as I'm sure she is aware of her own- Enterprise is Jenna's life, Spock, but just because she understands it is illogical for either of you to put the other above your duties to the Federation doesn't mean that on some subconscious level she desires it. Or at least some sort of validation. A proposal, on Earth, is a public display of the emotion you feel for each other meant to solidify a relationship and show your peers how much you prize each other's commitment to the other. Do you understand?"

               "I... believe that I do." The gears in his mind were slowly turning, taking in what Uhura said, and Spock came to the foregone conclusion that he had not handled the initial proposal very well. "When I requested our marriage in a private place with no preamble other than it was the logical conclusion to our relationship, Captain Kirk took it as an admission that I was perhaps too ashamed of our bond to let others see it, and that I did not care enough about her or her feelings to propose marriage because of my own love, but rather for a seemingly insensitive reason."

               "Yes! Exactly!"

               "So all I must do to mend the error is made a ridiculously public display of emotion in order to assure her that I want to marry her not for logic, but for love?"

               "I'm afraid so." 

But Uhura was smiling as she said it, and Spock took in the contradictory tone and facial expression with as much optimism as a Vulcan could muster.

"Your advice is logical and, I believe, will be effective once implemented. Would you please assemble our highest ranking officers on the bridge and alert the rest of the crew to pay acute attention to their conn screens?"        

"Of course, sir." Nodding firmly, Uhura left his quarters and Spock reached for his personal communicator- the one Jenna gave him with only her signal in its database.

He spoke clearly, concisely, and tried to convey as much emotion in his voice as he could in order to persuade her. When he finally closed it he had no idea whether she would show up or not, but either way there was no shadow of doubt in his when he picked up the small box on his datadesk and headed for the bridge.

As a famous human maxim goes, "There's no time like the present," and, however illogical it was, Spock now understood and appreciated the sentiment as he gathered the courage to face the lioness that was Captain Jenna Tiberius Kirk.

*

By the time I get Spock's message most of my anger from our fight has dissolved, but that doesn't mean I've forgiven him. Not by a long shot.

               "How could he, Bones?" I rant, fists clenched at my sides. "I understand where he's coming from, but to ask me because it is the 'logical' thing to do? Like it's just doing some job right or installing the newest upgrade on your nacelles! It's not like I've saved his life on multiple occasions and have been granted near-immortality on his orders. I'm just the _logical_ choice."

Beside me, Bones shifts uncomfortably on the bench, but I don't give it much credence. He has been my most trusted confidant since the academy- a little boy drama has been long in coming.

"Well... look at it like this; being with you... in that way, is probably like being thrown into a hurricane that's on fire while it's raining and then dropped out of warp suddenly only to realize you're in space without a helmet."

               I blink.

               "I'm not going validate that with a reply."

               "Dammit Jenna, I'm a doctor not a psychoanalyst! What do you want me to say? That he's just so in love with you that he doesn't know how to express himself? Your well-timed conspicuous 'absences' during our land leave made it pretty certain that he isn't having communication trouble in that department. How am I supposed to know what goes on in that Vulcan mind of his?"

               "You're a guy- there must be something you can tell me!"

               "I'm a _human._ And when it comes to dating, that's a far cry from being Vulcan."

               Huffing, I take a deep breath and concentrate on giving him my puppy dog eyes. He's never been able to resist them- it got him back at the academy, compelled him to sneak me aboard the Enterprise. After about five seconds he looks away, rubbing the crease between his eyebrows.

"Dammit... look, the best I can give you is that he probably doesn't understand what he did wrong. Look at it from his perspective- your reaction was just a giant ball illogical human hormones to him. Give him another chance. If only for the sake of the crew. Five years of our captain and first officer giving each other the cold shoulder? No thanks."

Although I'm pretty sure Bones insulted both Spock and I in the span of the last ten minutes, I am inclined to agree with every one of his assessments. Looking out over the San Francisco Bay, my eyes alight on the Academy building across the bridge.

"It's funny that after all we've been through, my final problem with Spock isn't that I want to kill him- it's that he got my proposal wrong." My voice is half sneer, half laughter, but instead of joking about how Spock was once just "That point-eared bastard," Bones is looking at me with an inscrutable expression on his face.

"What?" I exclaim. All at once a quick smile reshapes his face. It's gone in a second and he is looking away from me, but I can see his lips twitching.

               "What's so funny, Bones? Because that look _definitely_ wasn't about Spock." Eyes narrowing dangerously, I lean towards him on the bench, knowing that Starfleet Headquarters is looming just behind me and liking the implied symbolism. "Bones, I order you to tell me what you find _so_ funny."

Clearing his throat, Bones reclines against the bench.

               "Jenna... you do realize that the crew has been waiting for you two to either jump each other in the middle of a mission or rip out each other's throats ever since he stranded you on Delta Vega, right?" My face must be thunderstruck, because Bones instantly scoots away from me a little.

               "I may be a doctor, but I'm not blind- and neither are the others. And in the past year- what with Spock and Uhura ending it- between the months of waiting for Enterprise to be repaired and then you two always going off with each other on missions, it's been pretty obvious which conclusion you two came to. Frankly, Jenna, we've just wanted you two to get it over with and tell us already, before something like this happened and Enterprise was left with a Captain and First Officer at war with each other."

Standing up, I stride away from the bench towards the bay, ignoring Bones' cries of "Jenna! Dammit Jenna, wait up!"

               My feet crunch on the sand until eventually their sound is muffled by the small, lapping waves that wash over my boots and chill my skin. Arms crossed, I scowl at the Golden Gate Bridge and ignore Bones' splashing behind me.

               "Don't make me apologize for being Captain Obvious- I just-"

               _Beep._

That's my comm., but when I flip it open I hear an identical swish from behind me. Turning, my eyes alight on the comm. in Bones' hand. We share an identical quizzical look, although my first instinct is mild panic.

Chest tight, I flip it open, prepared for someone to tell me that Enterprise is damaged or a crewmember got hurt putting in the final repairs for our deep-space exploratory mission. Re-fitting Enterprise has been the number one concern ever since we got the orders a few weeks ago, but renovating a starship like Enterprise takes time and there are plenty of ways for something to go wrong, be it the warp-core rejecting the add-ons or something accidentally setting off one of the new phase cannons...

Instead I hear the hiss and static that proceeds a recorded message- this one dated from ten seconds ago. The rough delay time between a starship without full communications abilities- shut down in orbit temporarily for re-fitting- and a comm. on a planet's surface.

"Jenna, I recognize that you are angry with me, and my own carelessness makes your feelings entirely justified, yet it is imperative that you listen to this message in its entirety and, afterwards, beam up to the bridge of Enterprise-"

"What the hell was that for?!" Bones yelps as I slam my communicator shut and throw it down on the sand before stomping on it several times.

"They're indestructible Bones- it'll be fine," I grit out, seething. My anger isn't entirely with Spock, either- it's with the fact that as soon as I heard his voice I started missing him and wishing this stupid argument had never happened. I don't like admitting that I'm wrong, but Bones' explanation of what happened makes sense, and looking back on it I certainly didn't react as well as I could have.

"Don't be such an infant, Jenna- just listen to the rest of the message," Bones pleads, but then I remember that he got a message, too.

"Who was hailing you?" I ask, picking up the battered comm. from the sand and turning to him. He takes a few steps back.

"Uhura- all available Enterprise crew are to report back to the ship at once."

The part of Spock's message that I listened to rings in my ears.

"Yeah- Spock just left me a message saying pretty much the same thing." At Bones' cocked eyebrow I turn and start stomping towards Headquarters. "Don't give me that look, Bones- I get enough sass with Spock breathing down my neck."

"I didn't need those images, Jenna."

*

Despite Bones' insistence, I don't listen to the rest of the message; Spock can tell me what he wants once we are face to face on Enterprise, but there are butterflies in my stomach when I tell the controller to beam us aboard the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. Damn a woman's intuition. Sometimes being so sensitive is a pain.

               In a flash of light golden tendrils crawl around my arms and chest, working their way across my body until I am cocooned in the beaming glow, my every atom being torn apart in the interest of transporting me across space in the matter of the blink of an eye.

               When my eyes open again I am standing in the middle of a full bridge- all crew members at their posts as if we are setting out today. The first person I see is Uhura, and she gives me an uncharacteristic smile.

               "What's going on?" I whisper to Bones as I look around the room- everyone, once they stopped looking at us, is now looking at the Bridge doors just out of my line of sight.

               "Why don't you see for yourself?" He nudges me in the direction of the stares and, turning, I come face-to-face with Spock.

"I presume you received my message?" he says, oddly formal.

"Well- yeah... the part about coming to Enterprise, at least..." With everyone so openly staring it is difficult to speak to him, knowing that I want to kiss and apologize and, alternately, scream at him for being... well, I just want to yell at someone because if I talk civilly it will be to admit that we were both in the wrong and ought to compromise and for some odd reason that doesn't appeal to me when it comes to my recently-spurned lover.

"That will suffice- in hindsight, perhaps if you had listened to its full contents you would receive this declaration with more composure, but subtlety and following directions have never been in your range of talents." He is smiling. _Spock_ is smiling his stupid, adorable, barely-there sassy smile; the one that the crew has never seen...

"Whatever this is, does it have to be done here?" I hiss, leaning in on myself. Instead of replying, Spock merely takes a step back and bends down on one knee directly in front of me.

At this my mind goes completely blank.

"Spock, what are you doing? Spock, come on, stop joking around- why are you on the floor and-" Swallowing my words thickly, I stare at the small, silver pearl-inlaid ring that he is holding in his hand, looking up at me and obviously struggling to keep the emotion present on his face while others are watching.

"It was irrational of me to expect you to fully grasp the importance of logic in every aspect of Vulcan culture- especially courtship-, or understand what I was truly trying to say when I initially proposed. Neither of us dealt with our feelings efficiently, and this is my way of correcting that error. Lieutenant Uhura was kind enough to inform me of the human proposal custom involving a ring- I procured it at the last minute, but hope this one is pleasing enough." He blinks, as if waiting for a response.

All I can say is "You kind of have to ask me, Spock. Mind-melding's not my thing."

That, at least, gets a chuckle from the stunned crew- clearly he didn't tell them what he was planning, either. When I realize this the significance of what Spock is doing hits me. He is choosing not to hide our relationship anymore- foregoing Vulcan stoicism in order to satisfy my petty human emotional needs. That's so... _romantic_.

"Jenna Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the Starship U.S.S. Enterprise; for the majority of the past six months we have chosen to keep our relationship a secret- although it seems as though we were only mildly successful- and it is now my desire that our relationship not only be made public, but solidified. You would do me great honor if you agreed to be not only my wife here on Earth, but my _t'hy'la-_ an extension of my soul, as solidified by ancient Vulcan rights to be performed on New Vulcan."

For an undeterminable amount of time there is complete and utter silence on the bridge, nothing but the beating of my heart in a frantic taboo. When Spock first asked me it was easy to avoid the real question at hand- was I willing to be bonded to another person for the rest of my life- by focusing my anger on the tactless way he asked me, but now Spock has put aside some of the deepest parts of himself which have demanded rigid discipline and accordance with Vulcan culture in order to say "I'm sorry," and also "I love you." I can't ignore this now.

I swallow thickly, and take a deep, shuddering breath. Captain Pike's dissertation on my father flashes before my eyes, words standing out- entire passages devoted to outlining the singular courage of one captain who did not waver in the face of death, forever making that courage a quality expected in every Starfleet captain for the past twenty-six years. But then I have to think about my mother, too- the one time she told me the story of my birth and described, in a shaky voice, how my father had died to save us.

I suppose marriage is similar to death- one must be willing to give up a part of themselves, to make room for the other.

Conscious of the rest of the crew watching, I extend my hand and whisper a shaky "Yes," so low that only Spock and Bones can hear me, and he slides the cool ring onto my finger.

At first Uhura is the only one to clap, but slowly everyone else on the bridge joins in and when Chekov announces into the comm. "Ze Keptin said yes!" cheers erupt from every other part of Enterprise, pouring through the speakers until everyone is laughing and I can't help the tears.

"Jenna?" Spock says, rising to his feet with a concerned expression on his face. "Was I wrong in assuming that this is what you wanted? If it is not your desire there is no need to-"

"Shut up, Spock- these are happy tears!" Even so, I begin wiping them away, aware that a Captain shouldn't cry in front of her crew and not too fond of the idea of crying anyways. I'm not some sappy bubblehead who's dreamed of marriage her whole life or anything.

"You're supposed to kiss her, man!" Bones says, slapping Spock on the shoulder with a grin. I suppose there must be something satisfying about seeing Spock get down on the floor for a human, but I can't see anything through my haze of tears.

"It was my understanding that the kiss is reserved for-"

Yanking him down by the collar of his uniform, I ignore everything else around us and savor what is definitely our best kiss yet.


	11. New Vulcan

**Following San Francisco Memorial Speech**

During the Journey to New Vulcan and in our free time during the thirty days Enterprise spends on Titan getting the last few parts for her five-year mission, Spock teaches me about what the ceremony will be like, explaining that ancient Vulcan tradition is extremely important. Our ceremony will be a modified version of the _koon-ut-kal-i-fee,_ to accommodate one human partner and the fact that we have not been mind-melded like most Vulcans in arranged marriages.

He teaches me the order of the procession, how to say the vows and finish the ceremony, and explains the meaning behind the overly-ritualized custom. There is also a Vulcan mind-meld involved, something that he is oddly reluctant to explain while aboard Enterprise, but promises to tell me all about it once we reach New Vulcan.

               That, of course, comes sooner than I would like.

*

"Jenna!" a rough voice hisses through the comm. system. My hand fumbles for the button, fingers slipping across the smooth wall of my sleep compartment.

               "What time is it?" I mutter, blinking sleepily. My room is still dark, dimly lit by the light strips running along the bottom of the wall and the small blinking displays on my desk. Must have forgotten to turn them off before hitting the hay for what my body registered as past midnight, Earth Time. Space time? Irrelevant to the human body, which likes a proper sleep schedule.

               "7:30, New Vulcan time, now get your butt out of bed, _Captain._ You have an embassy to meet."

               At Bones' words I jolt up, head slamming against the top of my compartment. For a moment red lances across my vision but I'm suddenly so pumped with adrenaline that my feet find the floor anyway and I stumble to the storage compartment on the opposite wall.

               "Uniform," I mutter, rubbing my head. When the compartment slides open to the proper rack I grab the yellow shirt and black pants, yanking off my white and blue pajama pants and tank top.

               "What time we were supposed to meet them again?" I ask as I grab my portable comm. and run a hand through my hair to get rid of any obvious tangles.

               "Half an hour, and it'll take half that time to pass into the planet's atmosphere," Bones relays, voice sharp with annoyance.

By now I'm halfway to the bridge, palms sweating at the prospect of seeing Spock. Less than a month since he proposed to me and now Enterprise will be idling above Vulcan while we celebrate our wedding. The thought sends my stomach churning, and not in an entirely pleasant manner, but I manage to keep a straight face as I pass the night shift of crewmembers making their ways to their beds.

"Wish me luck, Bones," I manage before stepping through the bridge doors.

"You'll do fine, kid." With that, he's gone. I won't see him again until after the ceremony.

Luckily, Spock is waiting for me just inside the bridge with an almost-smile on his face. He looks pale, even for his usual dour self, which doesn't give me much confidence.

"I trust that Dr. McCoy was not needed to wake you?" he asks, sass eyebrow in raised position. That's when I know that he's just suffering from nerves, the same as I am, and I punch him on the arm.

"Of course not, Spock."

Chekov snorts into the comm. and quickly tries to hide it.

"Mr. Chekov!" Rounding on him, I see his face pale and his back straighten as he turns, one hand to his head in a salute.

"Aye, Keptin!"

"Please inform the crew that Mr. Spock and I are heading down to New Vulcan, and for that period of time until we return Enterprise is to be treated as an active-duty starship and be ready to leave at any moment. Mr. Sulu, I leave you as acting captain."

"Aye, Captain." He salutes as well as Chekov, blushing furiously, relays my message to the rest of the ship.

"If we do not leave now, we will be late," Spock says, hands clasped behind his back. Before he can move I wind an arm through his, savoring every touch I can get before the rigid discipline of New Vulcan limits us.

"Then let's go! Scotty should have the pod ready for launch. Take care of my baby, Sulu," I warn as the helmsman takes my chair. He nods and, remembering the Khan incident with the torpedoes, I relax a little. Of course she's in good hands. 

               "We're aiming for that landing pad, right?" I ask a few minutes later as I steer the shuttlepod down through the red, foggy atmosphere of New Vulcan. The landing pad in question is only a small dot at this point, in the middle of a sprawling valley surrounded by red mountains and hills. In the distance I see the spires and black shadows of a city, but the landing pad it connected by a small path to a large, sprawling villa some miles outside the city limits. In the morning sunlight the domes of glass over some of the larger parts of the building glint magnificently, and in the center I can see an astonishing amount of green for a place seemingly in the middle of the desert.

               "Yes- it will connect us to my father's new home, where we will be staying tonight and for the days after the ceremony."

               It is painful to have to concentrate on steering us instead of leaning back to kiss Spock, but I can see a small moving mass approaching the landing pad and, mournfully, admit that I won't even have time to steal one. I suppose that's what honeymoon's are for.

*

"They didn't send an entire escort, did they?" I ask Spock in a low whisper as I watch the black-and-red-clad-figures approach the landing pad from where we stand in front of the shuttlepod. They look so... _severe._

"As we are members of the Starship Enterprise and thus considered heroes in the service of Starfleet we warrant every courtesy given to a government diplomat," he murmurs, lips barely grazing my ear. "It is also customary, as the child of a member of Vulcan's Council of Elders, for me and my bride-to-be to be under constant escort until the evening before the ceremony, both for safety and to uphold ancient ritual."

               "Ah." Swallowing dryly, I smother the urge to reach for Spock's hand as the figures approach us, the ripple of heat gradually fading around them until they stand before us as defined and hard as pillars of stone.

               Though I only saw him once, when we rescued him from the destruction of Vulcan, I recognize Spock's father at once. At the head of the group, he nods his head to us and when he straightens I can see that he and Spock have the same ears, and basic facial structure. The eyes are different, though... Spock must have his mother's eyes.

               "Welcome to New Vulcan, Captain Jenna Tiberius Kirk," he says, and the other six people follow his example with a small bow. "And Spock."

               "Father," Spock says, inclining his head in respect. I may be imagining it, but I could swear Sarek's mouth perks up at the word. As quickly as the smile comes, though, it is gone, shielded by the stony exterior of the Vulcan High Councilmember.

               "I would have rather had this meeting on the platform outside of our old home on Vulcan," Sarek says suddenly, warranting an eyebrow twitch from the elder directly behind him. "Where you could see the red hills and the twin suns setting on the eve of the ceremony. New Vulcan is a worthy home, however, and I hope you will come to think of it as such."

"It's beautiful," I manage with my first genuine smile of the day. I can already feeling sweat form on the back of my neck.

From what I gather as Spock and I are led down the ramp to Sarek's new estate, this planet has been a small-scale Vulcan colony for some time, but wasn't widely needed until now. Thanks to its significantly more humid climate it sustains more plant life, and the people here are gradually learning to rely on similar and new natural materials, bringing precious artifacts that were saved in space storage or on cruising ships down to the planet, building bigger cities, and getting used to more plant life. Spock is especially excited about the new Science Academy, which is being trial-run and re-staffed.

Slowly the swishing robes of our escorts and the heat of the sun as it descends into noontime lull me into a comforting daze, Sarek and the other Vulcans' voices blending into a restful buzz in the back of my head. I don't notice Sarek's amused look when I absently twine my fingers with Spock's, or the faint frowns on his fellow councilmen's faces.

               For the next few hours as we are given a tour of Sarek's new home- it somewhat resembles an Italian villa, but with more of a tattooine vibe than river-town- I keep all comments and questions to a minimum. The sooner this is over, the sooner I am alone with Spock. Less than twenty-four hours until we are officially husband and wife...

               New Vulcan is magnificent, but as we are shown our separate rooms- literally opposite sides of the house, each of them the size of a small terran home and complete with domed glass roofs- it takes every ounce of self-control for me to keep bed jokes contained. Just a few more hours. A few more hours...

               _I'm not gonna make it._

*

**Four Hours Later: Sarek's Estate home**

At last the old-guy squad took a hint and left, Sarek departing with them for the city. Apparently his home is our home for the duration of the wedding and honeymoon period- which I've heard frighteningly little about despite all of my prodding- so now Spock and I have free reign to discover the house all over again, this time with the comforts of merely each other.

"We have the rest of the day to ourselves, in order to prepare emotionally for the ceremony tomorrow morning. Following that, we will have three days of rest together here before returning to duty."

               I am only half-listening as we stroll through the house, taking in the sights and simply the feel of the place. It is large, and new, and sparsely furnished with what I perceive are the few traditional Vulcan relics and furniture pieces that were saved from Vulcan before Nero's attack. The entrance hall itself is wide and spacious, with two hallways on either side leading to different wings of the home- one for the male, one for the female, as Vulcan couples traditionally don't share the same apartments. Through a hallway directly across from the massive front doors lies the garden and doors to the rest of the house. In the sunlight this place looks like it should be filled with laughing people, celebrating, dancing, but now it is merely lonely.

               An overabundance of large windows and glass ceilings, arches, and spacious rooms lends the place a wide-open air. Not at all what I would have expected from stony Vulcans.

               Still, as the hours lengthen and Spock and I explore the house, we eventually wander our way to the gardens. I can see the haven this place will become as their species begins to thrive again. As amazing as it seems... Spock and I are a part of that process. A small thrill runs down my spine at the sudden feeling of connectedness, of _belonging._ Cold and remote they may be, but I'm starting to see the beauty of Vulcan culture, and to realize how important this place must be to Spock. Nothing will ever replace his planet, but this is the next best thing that the universe has to offer him and as Vulcans begin to spread, and populate this world, we will be one of many embracing a new beginning.

               Smiling, I let my fingers drop to brush the broad leaves of an arching bush that covers the entrance to the gardens. I haven't felt like such a part of something since I first joined the academy.

               "It is strange," Spock says, fingers tightening over mine. "On Vulcan, we had to harvest moisture from the air and the thin atmosphere, and plants could only be carefully grown in stable greenhouse environments, but here tropics overtake deserts easily. These plants do not have to struggle at all to survive."

               "It's like a rainforest in here," I say. The entire garden, a sloping, winding enclosure in the heart of the house, is like its own private jungle. Complete with fountains and small rivers running between the grooves in the tile path, flowers and tall leafy bushes burst into life over every corner. I even think I hear small rustles that aren't the wind, tiny footfalls.

               "Are there animals here?" I ask as we turn a corner and come to a small hill covered in looping plants that look like grass but probably aren't.

               "Only small ones, thankfully. Otherwise we would have to guard our picnic much more fiercely," Spock says wryly, and when I look to the bottom I see a dark blanket covered in a small array of neat dishes at the bottom, complete with a drink that, judging from the bottle, is probably some sort of alcohol.

                "See? We _are_ getting to know each other," I joke, practically dragging him down the hill to the sound of my growling stomach.

*

I lean my head on his shoulder and feel his body move as he speaks, listening to his gentle voice as I look up at the stars, the fountains babbling softly in the background as the cool night air descends upon us. It's been hours since the picnic and I don't know where the sun went- everything is such a blur, so much for a day of reflection and thought. All I know is that the bench in front of the center fountain is much more comfortable when I have a warm body next to me.

"The mind-meld is an extremely delicate process, and once undergone only the completion of _koon-ut-kal-i-fee_ can erase its effects. Mind-melding is meant to join the minds of the two partners in order to make us more open to each other's emotions and feelings, and to create a mental connection between our minds."

               "Um... does it matter that terrans have little to no psychic abilities?" I ask, aware that one of the most prominent differences in our races is the Vulcans' ability to bond with each other's minds, thus giving them a whole other system of communication not relying on verbal or physical cues.

"The mind-meld will be strong enough to awaken any latent abilities, although for you it will be an exclusive link to me."

               "So, what, we'll be able to read each other's minds?"

               "Not exactly. It is very difficult to describe."

               "What's the point of this 'mind-meld'?"

               "The mind-meld, in the case of a betrothed couple, is meant to create a bond between them in order to facilitate a smooth transition into mating, but for those who choose their own mates later in life the mind-meld serves as a test of willpower and devotion. Among Vulcans, touch is uncommon, yet for a mating couple the mind-meld is achieved through physical contact and serves to awaken the well of all latent physical desires much like the _plak-tow_ proceeding _pon farr_. Only the palm-to-palm kiss at the end of the _koon-ut-kal-i-fee_ can dispel the physical fervor. If the couple is able to endure being privy to each other's thoughts and feelings while avoiding the expression of any physical desire the night prior to the ceremony, it is a testament to the strength of the bond."

               Swallowing, I take all of this in. For a culture founded in mental ability and emotional restraint, this sounds like a very physical ceremony. Masochistically so.

               "So basically we're going to spend all night kinky for each other and if we haven't jumped one another by the end of the ceremony tomorrow, we're good?"

               "In simpler terms, yes, although the physical element is less critical than the mental one, as the physical desires unleashed are only the by-product of the mind-meld's lowering of all mental blocks, even those containing unsavory or socially unacceptable desires. The restraint shown in controlling one's mind is the heart of the mind-meld."

               "Self-control is not my strong suit, Spock."

               "You underestimate yourself, Jenna."

               Not replying, I initiate a silence that neither of us seems keen to break. In the middle of the greenery, cool stone beneath us, Spock's warm body pressed against mine, the stars and twin moons shining down, I can't imagine a place I'd rather be.

               Absently, I wonder if my father would approve of my choice of a husband. I hope so. I think mom would have liked Spock.

               The only thing that could make this moment any more perfect would be if this were actually Vulcan. Now I regret never seeing it, or meeting Spock's mother; with the planet went an entire part of Spock's culture and identity. I never fully appreciated the loss until now, now that I care about him.

               "I wish I could have seen Vulcan," I murmur, still watching the stars as if I could pick it out myself.

               "Indeed; it was beautiful, although lacking the considerable planet life and humidity of this planet. The knowledge that somewhere, in another time stream, my planet continues is a small comfort."

               "I suppose..."

               "It is growing late; we should proceed to the mind-meld."

               He shifts so that I have to lean away from him, and we turn to face each other on the bench, me having no idea what I am doing, he with an expression of intense concentration on his face. Bringing his hand up, he places it gently on the side of my face, two fingers above, one of my jaw. He then takes my hand and guides it up to do the same on his face. The placement is awkward for me, and I'm pretty sure useless as my puny terran brain doesn't nearly have as much psychic ability as a Vulcan's.

               "Now, close your eyes and concentrate on opening your mind. Lower all mental blocks and inhibitions, and then attempt to concentrate on my mind. Use the physical contact as an anchor and spread out. Sense what I feel, free your mind."

               It happens faster than I expected it would. After years of perceiving the mind as a closed door, a secure vault, and place where only I can be, suddenly it is as if there is no place in the universe, physical or mental, where I can hide myself. Spock's mind glows like the sun in my mental eye, and I can feel his presence in my head, brushing past my thoughts; he's thinking about how beautiful I am.

               But along with sensing him, a floodgate of my own emotions- long since suppressed- comes flooding out. Grief for my mother, anger at my father, anger at Spock, love for him so blinding that for a moment I have to blink to assure myself that I'm only imagining the stars dancing in front of my vision. I never realized how fierce the body's physical propensity for desire was until this moment, when every cell in my body reacts to the smallest contact between us like my skin is on fire.

               "Spock!" I gasp after what seems like a lifetime but has only, in fact, been a few minutes. Our eyes meet and neither of us moves out hands away, even though I want to move his hand out of the way merely to get closer to him. If I don't kiss him right now the very floodgates of my desire will be washed away, wrenched open to the point where I won't be able to control myself.

               Spock's free hand clenches into a fist, and at this both of our hands are yanked back from each other's faces. My mind, exposed like a cell under the microscope, can sense a similar physical fire in his own thoughts. Getting up, he turns away. Pain wells where I bite so hard into my lip that the skin splits. Sweat coats my skin under the effort of keeping myself in check.

               "Is this... is this just a human thing? These feelings?" I ask tensely.

               "Negative," comes his reply, shoved past clenched teeth. "The 'fire' is shared by both partners, and once the mind-meld has been initiated will continue no matter the species of either partner, as studies have thus far concluded."

               Never have I been ashamed by my desires or physical feelings, but if I don't get away from him there will be no rule of social conduct or power in the universe that will keep me from jumping him in the middle of this fancy garden right by the fountain, maybe even _in_ the fountain.

               I cannot touch him. If I touch him I will lose it; the worst example of restraint in a partnership _ever_.

               "Goodnight, Spock," I say past clenched teeth.

               "Goodnight, Jenna," he murmurs, without turning.

               I don't go. I can't. I can't stand leaving his presence now that our minds are linked, that I know I can keep no secrets from him.

               "Spock, what If I can't do this? An entire night of this burning, not being able to go near you without feeling like I'm going to lose it..."

               "You have always shown a remarkable tenacity, Jenna. This will not conquer you."

*

But that night I come dangerously close to leaving my bed and padding across the house to Spock's wing, body still prickling and burning with the need to be near him. Not just that, but my mind feels oddly empty- after being completely bared to him, sensing his consciousness in the distance is excruciating.

               Watching the round, domed roof of glass over most of my suit, I attempt to take my thoughts off of my body's heat by looking at the stars. Vulcan's three moons light up the sky like diamonds, the stars hanging about them like ornaments on the sky's velvet expanse. Eventually, though, my thoughts wander to what Spock said about being comforted by the knowledge that in another universe Vulcan still survives- along with his mother. I wonder if my parents are both still alive in that universe, too.

               Would my father be proud of me, and the decisions I've made concerning Starfleet? Would my mother approve of Spock? If they attended our wedding in that universe, did they cheer and give me their blessing happily?

               By the time my eyes finally close, it is Spock's mother's voice in my ears; at least, how I imagine she would sound. Sad, I think, but also full of love for her adopted world and Vulcan husband. Does she have any words of wisdom for me regarding marrying a Vulcan?

               _Never forget that you love each other,_ she whispers. My subconscious wipes away everything else.


	12. The Wedding

By the next morning, the fire has receded to the dull buzzing of hornets in the back of my head, and my fingers have stopped trembling, but I can still _sense_ Spock's body across the house like a missing limb. Groaning, I pull myself out of bed and glance out the long windows overlooking the desert plain and, in the distance, the capitol of New Vulcan, Surak City. Today, somewhere on that plain, I will get married in a ceremony that has occurred billions of times in Vulcan's history, one that is ingrained in the very core of their species, and I hope to God I don't mess it up.

"Captain Kirk," a low, sonorous voice sounds behind me. Whirling, my eyes find Sarek standing in the doorway of my room, three Vulcan women behind him carrying a long package in a silver box. Rather than speculate as to its contents, however, I immediately pull the belt of the Vulcan sleeping-gown tighter and wonder if bursting in on a sleep-deprived bride is also Vulcan tradition.

               "My apologies if I disturbed you- I have a gift."

               But I already knew that- in fact, I can feel the generosity oozing off of Sarek in waves, as well as a guarded sense of fear. Like subtle ripples in a pond, I can taste little glimmers of every emotion and mindset in the room. The stoic Vulcan women aren't in very pleasurable moods right now; they are like a wall of ice.

               Blinking rapidly, I attempt to take all of this in and rationalize it, but am drawing a blank. Being open to others' feelings is completely alien to me- until I sensed Spock's thoughts last night I had spent a whole live focused inward, subconsciously observing only myself.

               "I can sense you grappling with the effects of the mind-meld. It must be very strange for you," Sarek observes.

               Mouth snapping shut, I nod. "Yeah... little bit."

               "It will become easier once the ceremony has been completed. Amanda, too, found it unsettling in the beginning."

               "Amanda.... Your wife?"

               "Yes." And there, behind the iron wall that is a Vulcan's mind, I sense just the smallest thread of grief. "Her memory brings me here. Captain Kirk, Vulcans are not prone to sentimentality. However, as you lack anything suitable for this ceremony, I offer the traditional dress Amanda wore when we were mated."

               At this he motions to the women and they open the box, revealing a gently compressed gown like nothing I've ever seen. It has a high neck that slopes down to connect with a ruler-straight top, straps of woven, shimmering material arching over the shoulders. Liquid and dripping glamour with its practical lines and floor-length skirt, the fabric is soft to the touch and glimmers, color caught between gold and silver like the burst of light just before a starship hits warp.

               "I have had it altered to fit your measurements. Do you find it satisfactory?"

               "I do. Yes. Thank you, very much," I manage, looking away from the dress to his expressionless face. Swallowing, I attempt a little more composure. "I am honored to wear it."

               "T'Pol, T'Rena, and T'Pel will help you prepare for the ceremony, and will act as your escorts. In addition, Spock informed me that you might feel more at ease if you had human companionship proceeding the ceremony. I arranged for one of your crew members to join you," Sarek says.

               "Don't worry- McCoy said he valued his eyesight and passed on the offer," Uhura laughs, stepping out from behind the three Vulcan women.

               Her presence immediately relaxes me, dissipating some of the pressure to act regal when around Vulcans.

               "Dr. McCoy is currently with Spock," Sarek adds. "The procession will arrive in two hours to deliver you to the ceremonial cite."

               Nodding once, he turns and leaves me alone with Uhura and the three emotionless Vulcan women. Well, not emotionless- I can sense glimmers of their minds like watching a grainy film, but as they don't feel particularly kindly towards me I do my best to focus my mind on-

               _Holy sh$#!_ My knees wobble somewhat, and I grab Uhura's hand.

               "Do you really feel that way?" I gasp, looking at her in confusion, an expression she mirrors.

               "Do I feel... what?"

               "I-I can sense your emotions, and... you really don't resent us at all?" It sounds selfish, and stupid, but if my boyfriend got "stolen" by the Captain then I'd be pretty pissed to. Uhura, however, doesn't feel anything like that; her mind is actually practically glowing with happiness, the force of which I wasn't prepared for when I accidentally grazed her thoughts.

"My relationship with Spock was only beneficial as far as emotional transfer and mutual gain went. It was fueled by my ambition more than anything, but now... you two belong together, Captain."

               "W-well... glad I know now."

               "Did you really think I was jealous, after all this time?" She looks completely put-off by my insinuation.

               "Not exactly... just... you know, thought it was unlikely you'd really broken it off and-"

               "And what? Kept my head?" Huffing, she spins me around and pulls off the sleep robe. "You're welcome to Spock; I wouldn't want him back if you threw him at me. Now help- I'm not dressing you."

               Together we manage to cram me into the dress, which is actually fairly comfortable despite how difficult it was to put on. It hugs my figure pleasantly, and the cut-outs at the back and sides allow my skin to breath. Finally, the Vulcan women attempt to do up my hair in an elaborate braid reminiscent of a beehive, but I quickly put a stop to that. I can tell I'm testing their limits, but at last we settle on a simple braided crown threaded with ceremonial Vulcan bell ornaments which chime softly as I walk.

               Swallowing, I visualize myself and Spock in bed tonight, all of the rigid ceremonies thrown out the window as we finally touch again and the incessant buzzing in the back of my head vanishes.

*

**Replica of Ancient Vulcan Mating Grounds- Outside Surak City**

"Although this place is merely a copy of the ancient mating grounds of Vulcan, time will infuse it with the same importance. Slowly, the history of our great clan and the majesty of Vulcan will be restored with each ceremony performed here. Today, we honor the very first bonding ceremony to be performed on these grounds- that of my son, and his chosen mate Captain Jenna Kirk. May their bond be blessed, and represent only the beginning of the rebuilding of our culture." Sarek's voice resonates throughout the stone circle where various surviving members of his clan are, as well as the Vulcan elder T'Pau, who has apparently presided over their ritual marriages since the dawn of time, if her wrinkles are anything to go by.

               I squeeze Uhura's hand without realizing it right before she leaves to join Bones in the middle of the stone circle, in the middle of the desert plain at the foot of the mountains. They were are only two allowed to come in person, as the helpers of the bride and groom, but Bones is holding a small viewscreen so that the rest of the crew can see as well. Imagining Chekov on the bridge and even Scotty taking a break from his precious nacelles spreads a comforting warmth through me. My crew is with me.

               Then rigid, stern-faced Vulcan men dressed in their traditional warrior array, each holding a long stick hung with rows of bells, surround me- as I was informed, they mimic the family of the bride, as I have no Vulcan relations- and we begin into the circle. Across from me, Spock steps into view as well, looking fierce in a bright red tunic and black pants, a Vulcan robe embroidered with silver covering his arms and shoulders. Each of us proceeds, steps met by the clamorous jangling of the bells, one foot at a time, towards the ceremonial dais in the middle of the circle, where Sarek stands gravely. 

               With each sounding of the bells the wasps in the back of my brain get more and more excited, until the burning from the other night is back in my blood and my bones ache at the thought of being so far away from Spock. It is all I can do to keep my hands from trembling, and through our new bond I can sense Spock's own agitation, though he hides it perfectly.

               Through every step of the ceremony, involving more bells, stepping forward and back, at one point our hands stretched out to each other less than a foot apart, my frustration with Vulcan tradition grows, until all I want to do is kiss my hobgoblin husband and put back on my Starfleet uniform. To the rest of the assembled witnesses, I suppose the ceremony is almost beautiful, like a dance or a silent war between two entities soon to be joined as one.

               As it goes on, however, I begin to realize that the fire of lust isn't just physical- it's in my mind, and I can sense it not just in Spock's body, but his mind, too. A column of fire between us, not just full of lust but anxiety and fear, also fierce joy which comes with his level of control, and- most pleasantly of all- a desire to be near me. On my part, every feeling is reciprocated, bringing with it a new level of understanding as we get closer and closer, until at last we are facing each other on the dais in front of Sarek, out palms separated by an inch of empty air.

               I don't just want to touch him, but be joined with him mentally- feel his mind in mind and no longer be alone, lost inside of my own head as I have been since we melded last night. I want to tame this internal fire _with_ him. The realization hits me like the harsh voices of the bells still ringing around us; in Vulcan relationships, not being able to know what your partner is thinking isn't a problem, so they never feel the same isolation around each other that human couples do. Forever united; that's why they don't _need_ to show so much physical affection. But as of now, that physical connection is keeping our minds from fully melding, and it's driving me _crazy._

I try to pay attention as Sarek commences with the wedding speech.

               "What we are about to see comes down from the time of the Beginning. This is the Vulcan heart, this is the Vulcan soul- this is our way," he says, deep voice resonating throughout the circle. "Do any of the assembled with to invoke the challenge of Kali-Faar over Captain Kirk?"

               A beat of silence accompanies his words, after which I sigh deeply. As Spock explained, Kali-Faar is when one of the assembled wishes to fight the bride or groom for the right of the other's hand in marriage. Such fights are rare, but when initiated they are bloody and fatal.

               One of the Vulcan guards rings the gong behind Sarek on the dais, and he nods at Spock and I.

               "The ceremony will now commence. Spock, Jenna; complete your mind-meld and become one, dispelling the bonding fever from your blood."

               I blink, and when my eyes open Spock's palm in pressed against mine. It is as if my skin has caught fire, the skin-to-skin contact lighting me up like a nuclear explosion. Spots dance across my eyes as I begin to tremble, mind blinded by finally, _finally_ being able to touch him.

               I can sense his mind probing mine, his love, the absolute adoration that flows through me. Our eyes meet and it's a miracle that mine are still dry; I'm sure he can sense my oncoming tears, too.

               "It is done," Sarek intones above us, but I don't think either of us is listening.

               Our hands collapse, fingers entwining as a stupid grin splits my face and his lips quirk up.

               _It is done._

*

One surprise wedding reception- hosted by our dear crew- later, and both Spock and I are absolutely exhausted. He is covered in wedding cake courtesy of moi, and I'm fairly sure I've been blinded by Chekov's awkward attempts at dancing with some of the Vulcans who escorted Spock and I back to the estate.

               Still, celebrating with the crew, laughing, dancing, eating, was highly preferable to leaving Spock. As we stand in the hallway between our two rooms, the distance between them seems impossibly far, the time it will take each of use to "cleanse" for the upcoming ritual an unnecessary technicality.

               Nevertheless, he gently worms his hands from mine and turns away, lamplight flickering warmly across his features. I don't need him to say anything for me to know he feels the same way; that's the only thing that makes it easier for me to leave him behind and begin the long trek to my room.


	13. The Honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAHAHAHAHAHAHA This was my first attempt at explicit content. What a child a was. What a wee innocent bab.

**New Vulcan, Sarek's Estate**

Hot water from the show scalds my skin, my mind- still raging with blood fever despite our mind-meld- painting pictures of Spock and I in the steam. As Sarek put it, the last part of the ceremony is the joining of "body and mind," which is held so sacred that it is never discussed, even by those who have undergone it or are preparing to, except in the most private of places. When Spock told me about it I couldn't believe it- sure I'd been in bed with him, but the idea that such an intimate ceremony has been a part of Vulcan culture from the dawn of their civilization and the whole universe still thinks of them as cold and unfeeling is... well, too much for me to wrap my head around, at any rate.

               Night having fallen, it's freezing when I step, dripping, out of the ornately tiled shower and re-enter my room, gazing about for something to put on for the journey to Spock's chambers. I'd much rather just drop the towel and go, but the image of Spock putting on a robe when he left the bed the first time we were together stops me from parading around his father's house in nothing but my skin.

               Of course, _I'm_ not so supposed to go anywhere- the female must wait for her mate to initiate the ceremony- but there's no way I'm going to let Spock whittle away the hours fretting in his rooms and pacing a hole in the floor. I grab a simple white nightshift from the wardrobe across the room and, before I lose my nerve, fling open the door to my chamber and race across the hall.

               Lamplight flickers as I run, shadows long and creeping in the absence of New Vulcan's ancient red sun. The brown and tan color of the walls blurs with red, black, and cold accents, the pounding of my feet a mantra that I send out with my mind.

_I want you._

_I need you._

_Did you really think I would wait?_

There is nothing in my mind but him as I place a hand on the gleaming handle of his door, breath catching in my throat. The nightgown whispers around my ankles as I slide into his room, which is bathed in moonlight from the twin moons smiling down through the glass dome ceiling. His room, like mine, is minimalist, with a simple low bed hung with black and cream sheets and a few decorations, a divan and desk, a wardrobe, two doors leading out to a low balcony.

               Shadows writhe around the room's circular edges, painting pictures that whisper foul, tempting things in my ears. The sight of Spock, still dripping from his shower, stepping into the room only makes the whispers louder. His eyes widen as our connection clues him in to the basics of my imaginings, causing me to laugh softly. Something about this night, silent and cold and remote, makes me feel quiet deep inside, no matter how loud the firestorm in my thoughts is.

               After an entire night and day of imagining that I would just jump on top of him and not let go until my heart burst, I suddenly find myself unable to move. The moonlight makes stark every droplet of water on his skin, his normally fastidious hair thrown wildly about on his forehead in an oddly rakish, arousing manner.

               "Spock-" I rasp, throat dry. My hand lifts gently, his movements mirroring mine, and our palms kiss between us. 

               Slowly, tentatively, step by step and straining to sense each other's minds Spock and I move closer, the wordless rule of the room that tonight we are as fragile as fine china, our bodies glass, hearts ready to shatter should we push ourselves too far. We lean in for a kiss that tastes like fire and the hushed spell is broken like someone let loose a flood of gasoline.               

               Minds finding each other abruptly, the floodgates of our lust pour open with a vengeance. Each of our bodies is suddenly a live wire sparking in the night and unable to be content with a simple palm kiss or touching lips.

"I love you," he murmurs, wet body pressing against mine and soaking through the gown until it is nothing but a nuisance. His damp hands help to lift it off of my shoulders while I fight with the fabric, hands trembling with my fury that it is holding my body hostage from my _husband._

From this night on our minds, our souls, are one and the same. Beneath the tempest of our combined lust a small voice sings to me that I will never, ever be alone in the universe again. Not as long as my _th'y'la_ knows my mind, even if we are light-years away from each other.

               My nails dig into the flesh of his back as Spock's hands convulsively grow tighter around my arms, each of us struggling to devour the other not only in the physical sense, but also within our minds. Passion so strong that we can hear each other screaming in our heads to be heard.... When we hear each other across the voice it is nothing but pure, unadulterated bliss that washes through us.

               Scooping me up bridal-style, I am shocked by how strong Spock is as he carries me to the bed, though I know I shouldn't be. I've seen that strength many times, though it is hidden by his blue science-officer's uniform. It has been used in defense of Earth, of Captain Pike, of me. It serves him well as we collapse onto the bed, my stupid nightgown finally discarded.

               The stars shine down through the glass roof as our bodies scrabble for purchase on the silky sheets and our sweating skin, the red claw marks on Spock's shoulder blades and forearms glittering. My legs are slippery as they cling to his waist, and every desire of the past twenty-four hours is fulfilled a hundred times over.

*

Not a word is spoken.

               Not one word, nor murmured "I love you," breaks us apart for hours, but fire eventually has to die and when ours does the missed words are gasped between us, afterthoughts in the light of fulfilling "logical" biological urges.

               The strange thing about these words being that they are not spoken aloud.

               Spock freezes beneath me when I call out with my mind, too overcome to use a mouth that is, at the moment, rather busy. After we discover the strength of our connection what began as passion in its basest form becomes a tentative exploration of each other's minds, us growing accustomed not only to lack of boundaries in the physical world, but in our innermost thoughts.

               My initial "I love you," was heard by Spock loud and clear, but from then on it is more of a mood transfer, little feelings, bursts of intuition sent from one to the other, coherent words only forming in the case of our names or feelings to intense to be expressed any other way.

               It's no wonder Vulcans are so repressed- if they feel this way all the time, their minds connected with the knowledge that mental bliss will overcome them with something as simple as a palm-to-palm kiss, there would be little need for the physical workout that we terrans so enjoy. By no means am I giving it up, but as the sun rises on our sweat-soaked bodies entangled on top of the sheets, both of us sitting up and wrapped around each other, I realize that it pales in comparison to the mental playground that Spock and I now have stretched before us.

               Our chests press together, and I rest my head on Spock's shoulder, one leg wrapped around his waist, my hands tracing the love marks on his back. In turn Spock rests his head against the side of mine with one knee up next to him, arms wrapped around my naked waist.

               There is neither beginning nor end nor any whisper of separate bodies in our pose. We simply _are._ Eyes closed, retreated as we are into each other's thoughts, we are oblivious to everything around us but each other. Even as the sun rises and grows hot, baking out skin through the glass, our little murmurs and kisses happen within our metaphysical realm, where thoughts brush past each other like bursts of light and emotions are conveyed in a heartbeat.

               For us it is an eternity, or a second, but to the rest of the planet the sun has come and gone, setting in a burst of orange on the horizon of Surak City. Only as night settles in, chilling out skin, do we come back to ourselves and feel our cold, stiff limbs.

               New eyes, ears, minds, bodies receive the coming night as we curl beneath the heavy blankets, reassured now that we will never know the feeling of being alone, or of doubting each other or how we feel. Irrevocably- that's a word I wasn't fond of, what with losing George and then mom and Captain Pike- I know that nothing in the universe is more certain than the bond I share with the Vulcan with his head on the pillow next to mine.

               In the new starlight I trace the lines of his face, the soft curve of his jaw and the upturn on his eyebrows, his chocolate eyes carrying out the same survey of my own features all the while.

               "I love you," I whisper, words like honey as our hands entwine, reluctant to give up any physical contact despite our new mental surety.

               So, locked in each other's embrace, for the first time in weeks, we simply sleep.

               And we dream.

               Dream the same dream of each other beneath the twin moons of the New Vulcan night sky, stars draped around our bodies, palms together.

*

**The Next Morning**

Warmth lays across me like a blanket, the heavy presence in the bed beside me radiating heat like a blazing fireplace. Slowly as the sunlight traces across myself I become aware of myself- my naked body pressed against Spock's, his gentle breath cooling my collarbone.

               "Jenna," he murmurs, and I moan softly as memories of the past twenty four hours slink back into my mind.

               "We must prepare for the day," he insists, moving to push the covers back. My eyes squeeze shut tighter and I pull his hand to my cheek, frowning. "We need food. It is our last day of seclusion; we cannot spend it in this bed."

               "Why not?" I mutter, eyes opening narrowly. Through the crisscrossing bars of my lashes I watch him sit up, and growl softly when he leaves the bed, depriving me of his warmth.

               "Because there is so much for us to do beyond this room, together," he smiles, kisses my cheek, and I give in.

               I run my hands through my chin-length hair and blink at him sleepily, admiring the way the sun drips across his chest and jaw.

               "Well, before we do anything, I think we need a shower," I insist, and yank him towards the bathroom before he can protest, all the while reveling in the warm glow persisting in the back of my mind. My own personally doorway into Spock's moods and intuitions- which right now are wonderfully matched with mine.


End file.
